


inheritance

by zaboraviti



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, But I did my best, F/M, Idk what to say, M/M, and probably a bit icky, this is very left field
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22393750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti
Summary: When Victoria left London with its hustle and bustle for the peace and quiet of the Lake District to look after her dying grandmother, she had no idea what her inheritance would be.
Relationships: Charles Elmé Francatelli/Nancy Skerrett, Edward Drummond/Alfred Paget, Emily Temple Viscountess Palmerston/Henry Temple 3rd Viscount Palmerston, Mr Penge/Louise Lehzen, William Lamb 2nd Viscount Melbourne/Victoria of the United Kingdom (1819-1901)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Наследство](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22620574) by [zaboraviti](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaboraviti/pseuds/zaboraviti). 



> an AU nobody asked for, based on the Japanese film Otoko no isshou (Her Granddaughter/A Man's Life). the film (which i love - i have my reasons. also, it's beautiful) has absolutely nothing in common with Vicbourne except for the age difference between the leads but when did we let anything like that stop us? i see age difference and i think Vicbourne. so i took an insufferable old geezer and a young pushover from the film and shaped them into something somewhat resembling our love birds.  
>  there are direct quotes from the film and a couple from the TV series as well - those belong to their respective authors. the audacity is all mine.  
>  and i should probably apologize to the Brits. i have never been to the Lake District and anywhere else in the UK, so i googled until i was sick of googling and i still know bugger all. but, hey, we're not here for a geography lesson anyway, right? well, sorry anyway, just in case, i just used whatever i could in whatever way i had to to make this work.
> 
> (cover art by [© Catelyn May](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatelynMay/pseuds/CatelynMay))

“Lexie!”

The scarf is fluttering on the clothesline like a pink sail. _Magic_ , she thinks: Nan’s garden is huge but it covers a whole half of it. She cranes her neck, trying to peep around the quivering edge.

“Lexie, I told you, inside, now!”

She lets out a squeal, startled by the shout, and leaps across the doorstep. When Nan has this kind of voice, you know better than to argue with her. Boom… boom… the old clock in the hall greets her with a deep droning chime. Nine, ten… she can’t count after ten yet, so it’s ten and one. Which means that it’s time to wind it — Nan does it every day when it strikes ten and one. But Nan is in the garden outside, talking with some man and it doesn’t look like she is coming back any time soon, and she is kind of scared of calling her. After all, you only need to put the little key into those holes, there and there, and turn it — three times. But the clock is hanging so high up on the wall and she is so small.

Her grandmother will come in from the garden to find her at the top of the tower of the kitchen stool and books, just in time to catch her when the unstable structure will wobble from an energetic movement. She will freeze in the safe soft arms, her little heart pounding, the key clutched in a sweaty fist, afraid to open her eyes until she will hear her grandmother laugh. “Nan, I did it, I did it on my own!” “That’s right, on your own,” Nan will smile, stroking her messy hair, “and don’t you ever forget that.”

***

“Victoria!”

Well, at least Gran stopped calling her that stupid name that only took roots thanks to Mom in the first place. She is not a dog! “What’s wrong with it?” Marie shook her head, perplexed. “Alright, not Lexie, you're not a little girl anymore, I agree, but _Alexandra_ sounds so majestic. Protector of people!” “Yeah,” she scowled, “protector. Like a dog.” Her mother waved her off and slammed the door, muttering that she just had no idea whom the headstrong girl took after.

“Victoria, please go inside, I asked you, didn’t I?”

She snorts, like only teenagers can snort. She couldn’t care less what secrets Gran and that guy are whispering to each other. She is thirteen and the stupid village — which is exactly what Melvic is regardless of its official status — is the last place she wants to be. She would give anything — _anything_ to be in London tomorrow, right in the middle of… everything, really. Life. Just her luck to have been born in this hellhole. Her parents just wanted to spend some time together in the quiet of the countryside before the due date but of course, Marie went into labor three weeks too early. “You have always been impatient and hungry for attention,” her mother sighed.

The corridors of Melvic’s modest maternity ward may have heard her first scream but all of her heart belonged to the big city where she grew up. When you’re thirteen, the serene beauty of the Lake District pale in comparison with the bright lights of the capital. Still, Dad was implacable. “She’s having a hard time alone with your grandfather, and your aunt isn’t much help. You can help out and distract her.” She was dying to spit out, “Maybe _you_ should go then, instead of wining and dining another one of your whores!” But one glance at Mom was enough to make her grit her teeth and swallow the dirty retort. Maybe it’s for the best, maybe it will help if they have some time to themselves, just the two of them. Maybe they’re better off without her, maybe… Naïve little fool, she doesn’t know yet that as soon as the car taking her to the station (“I’m not a fan of long goodbyes, you know that, Alexandra…”), her mother will text that asshole Conroy, and her father will get in his car to pick up his eagerly awaiting mistress only to get into an accident that very night. The young “promising actress” will walk away with a couple of bruises, but Edward Hanover will die at the hospital without regaining consciousness. Victoria will have her wish: she will be back in London after spending less than a day in the country. She will stop talking to her mother for a long time, blaming her for what happened — but really blaming herself.

***

“Miss Hanover?” the familiar female voice fills her with helpless yearning.

She hangs up, her unseeing gaze traveling around the room. She walks out into the hall. Boom… boom… Eleven. Time to wind it. Nobody else to do it now.

She is no longer six, not even thirteen, but she still can’t reach the keyholes in the face of the clock, even on tiptoe — her cousins got all the best genes, they are giants next to her, and she got everything from her mother. Except the eyes. “Yes, these are definitely Hanover eyes!” Uncle Bill used to proclaim proudly every time they met at family get-togethers or in the office building.

She steps down from the stool rather melancholically and walks back into the room to look it over once again, this time with clearer eyes. No time to snivel. She needs to figure if she can cram hordes of family members, Gran’s colleagues and probably former students into this one room.

***

Every once in a while, she felt someone’s persistent gaze following her but every time she turned to look, her arm was squeezed by a second cousin’s aunt who wanted to know who got Charlotte’s bone china, or a sniffling university professor dying to sing praises to Professor Hanover’s pedagogical talents and great personality. In an attempt to escape one of them, Victoria found herself in front of her mother and her mother’s brother.

“How long are you going to stay holed up here?” Uncle Leo wasn’t the one to beat around the bush.

“Uncle, I meant it — I put in my resignation letter and used all my extras in lieu of two weeks’ notice. I’m not going back.”

“Stop with this nonsense! You will be bored in a week. Let me remind you that you have a duty to the family. The rabble will run the company into the ground while you’re admiring lakes and fells!”

Victoria wearily tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Please don’t call them that. They are Uncle Bill’s children.”

“Bastard children!” Marie interjected. “You are more entitled and more capable.”

“Mom, for god’s sake, are we living in the nineteenth century? And could you please not bring this up today of all days? Gran…”

“Victoria, your grandmother is well beyond caring now. The business needs a steady hand, and these…” Uncle Leo grated his teeth, “brats can’t even agree with each other.”

Indeed, these brats — Victoria’s cousins George and Fred — were hardly brilliant managers and felt much stronger about polo, sport cars and night clubs. Still, no matter what her mother and Uncle Leo might say, they were direct heirs of the CEO and shared a controlling interest in Hanover Industries. Victoria suspected that the only reason they attended board meetings was the sense of duty to their late father. Perhaps, it also had something to do with the fact that Uncle Bill had indoctrinated his children with his deep-seated mistrust of Marie’s family — if the choice was between bankruptcy and Coburgs, let it all burn.

“If only your father were alive…” Marie dramatically wrung her hands.

“You wouldn’t be married to John,” Victoria finished her sentence and flinched. “By the way, thanks for not bringing him. Mom, I could do without lofty speeches. Please. Not today.” She hesitated before adding bitterly, “If you can’t stand my cousins so much, you should talk to Albert. He definitely won’t mind.”

Albert, who had recently become Head of Logistics, was also a Coburg, but he was Marie and Leopold’s nephew twice removed, which somewhat cooled down Uncle Bill who never failed to start seething whenever he heard the hateful name. Besides, Albert was well educated, had impeccable manners and, despite constant exposure to Uncle Leo’s corrupting influence, he couldn’t lie or scheme, that is, he was devoid of the invaluable business quality, according to his uncle. “Uncle Leo has sculpted a beautiful marble Galatea but he forgot to give it a soul,” Victoria would sometimes say. She called him soulless or a clockwork prince every time he failed to read her emotions correctly. Of course, Albert was neither and she of all people knew that, because he only allowed himself to drink alcohol in the presence of Victoria or his older brother, the only two people he fully trusted, and when he did, he let it all out, everything he usually kept under a safe lock of self-possession. He was not a stranger to empathy either — the thing is, Victoria was so impulsive and so full of contradictions and it wasn’t easy to keep up with her. She was so quick, even rash, in everything, including feelings. When they were younger, it added a certain zest to their relationship but in the end, he probably just got tired of trying to catch up, of being bored at loud parties, of unraveling the tangle of her paradoxes.

_Fine_ , she thought with resurfacing exasperation. _Fine, let him babysit this hen, this mousy, insipid_ … Still, her traitorous heart lurched when she noticed the familiar lanky figure in the humming crowd of black suits and dresses — it lurched and leapt up to her throat and started pounding there like mad, making it hard to speak and harder to breathe. At least he had enough sense not to approach her, at the cemetery or in the house. Look at him, standing there like a statue, when she is mourning her beloved grandmother, look at the bastard, all cold and indifferent there, when she is suffering, when she could use some comfort. Her vision became blurry for a moment and she blinked: _don’t cry, don’t you dare._ Nobody would be surprised, but she would rather be stricken by lightning on the spot than cry because of some guy at her grandmother’s funeral. Actually, let lightning strike her anyway for thinking about him when her grandmother…

“Victoria?” an unfamiliar melodic voice pulled her out of her dark thoughts before Uncle Leo, who had already pumped some air into his lungs for a new tirade, could speak.

Victoria turned around. The woman looked about forty — well-groomed skin, light natural makeup, shiny chestnut hair pulled in a plain smooth bun, subtle but flawless manicure, a black sheath dress ending just below the knee and showing off beautiful slender calves… Victoria looked up at her face again: the shrewd eyes betrayed the woman’s true age.

“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I have something that belonged to your grandmother and I think you should have it.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Emma. Emma Portman. Charlotte and I used to work together.”

***

“You know,” Victoria said, quizzically turning a cheap plastic lighter over in her hands, “you could have kept this.”

“I’m sorry, it’s just you looked so miserable that I thought you were in urgent need of rescuing, and it was the first thing that came to mind.” Emma smiled. She had such a warm and disarming smile that Victoria wished she would hug her and tell her that everything would be just fine. She would believe her.

“Thank you,” she smiled weakly. “They are so… and today is so…”

Emma waved her hands.

“No need to explain, I have a family too.”

“So you are a university professor. Do you teach cultural studies as well?”

“Nineteenth century English literature.”

“Really? I love Dickens.”

“Your grandmother couldn’t stand Dickens,” Emma chuckled.

“Yeah,” Victoria couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I couldn’t care less about Victorian orphans and slums!”

“I have no great desire to consort with grave-robbers, and pickpockets and the like!” Emma echoed and suddenly her smile faded as she started looking around, searching for someone. “By the way, this is not her original quote, it was something a friend of ours likes to say. I wanted to introduce him but I think he might have left already. He and Charlotte were very close, I think you two could find a thing or two to talk about.”

“Well, too bad then. Maybe I’ve heard about him. What’s his—”

“Victoria.”

He didn’t have enough sense after all. Victoria closed her eyes, mentally counted to ten, apologized to Emma, who nodded understandingly, and turned her head to meet the earnest gaze of gray blue eyes.

“Albert.”

“My condolences.”

“Thank you.”

Albert’s honest glassy stare was fixed on her eyes. _Once I was a wooden boy_ , she thought with sudden indifference, _a little wooden puppet boy_ …

“You’re coming back to London soon, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business anymore.”

“It’s about the company, which makes it my business.”

Of course, that’s what it was about. She is such an idiot to let that flicker of hope get to her.

“The company? You can have it, my treat!” She waved her hand cheerily, fighting off a hysterical fit.

“Would you stop with this buffoonery? This is serious. Forget the bucolics, come back, do the handover and…” He flinched, almost imperceptibly, and his face hardened, as though he needed to get rid of anything human he had in him to finish the sentence. “And go for the chair. I will help you every step of the way.”

God knows how hard it was for him to say it. The ambitious poor relation, always in a supporting role, never the lead, a prince that would never become the king.

“I don’t need your help. Have you perhaps forgotten who always got the best grades?” Victoria spat out vindictively, knowing that she would regret her words in ten seconds. But when she was on fire, she burnt everything to ashes, taking no prisoners. “And who’s on good terms with everyone at the company? If I ever want to sit on that Iron Throne, I will do so without your handouts.”

Not saying anything, his face a mask, Albert spun around and walked out of the room. Oh, she should _not_ have done that. Albert never really wronged her; he had even waited for an appropriate amount of time to pass before he started seeing someone else. He must have used some formula to calculate that exact amount of time. He loved his formulas. And he was like this in everything else. Albert was a rock — an icy one sometimes but a rock all the same, always reliable and steady. _Yes, you should have, yes, you should have!_ her heart whimpered in a spiteful voice of a resentful little girl, pulling up the photos from Albert’s Facebook page from her memory.

***

By the time the last mourner left (she grated her teeth at her mother’s “Alexandra, I will call you tomorrow!”), it was already dark. The kitchen was scrubbed clean by the temporary help, not a speck of dust in the living room too, the fridge was full with boxed leftovers of the catered food and the compassionate neighbors’ contributions. She had been dying to take a break from all the commotion all day and now that she was finally left to herself, she suddenly wanted to run away, to get out of this sterile silence. Victoria had been living in this house on her own for two weeks while her grandmother was in the intensive care but she had never truly felt alone until now. Gran’s unseen presence had permeated every little thing, from the slim volume of Marcus Aurelius on the book shelf to the peach colored silk scarf on the hanger. The clock in the hall had stopped, forgotten. The house seemed to have died with her.

The stifling silence was unbearable now, and Victoria tumbled outside. The fresh air instantly made her feel better. Her tears dried up in the gentle breeze, as though wiped by Gran’s caring hand. She smiled despite herself and looked back at the old cottage. Everybody needs time — and so did the house. And _she_ needed a shower, she needed to wash this crazy day away, but she still couldn’t force herself to go back in. Victoria toed off her shoes and marched through the tall virgin grass to the wooden platform jutting into the river.

Well, life in the countryside definitely has its advantages, she thought as she unzipped her mourning dress and slid into the warm water. The river took her in its arms softly and gently like a mother would a prodigal daughter… well, ideally speaking, of course, because when Victoria’s own mother hugged her after some time apart, she would normally pinch her sides and cheeks, saying, “Having buns for breakfast again, are we?”

Something anxious but undefined invaded her bitter thoughts all of a sudden and broke through them. She shuddered and looked up. She thought she had seen lights in the annex flicker on and out. She shook her head — nonsense, just imagination, how could anyone be in the locked annex? Still, she pulled herself up onto the platform and jogged back to the house, looking around gingerly and covering her chest with the dress. Once safely inside, she locked up, walked to the kitchen window and cautiously peeped between the slats of the blinds. The annex stared at her with dark windows, just like it was supposed to.

She put on her pajamas, wrapped her hair in a towel, got into Gran’s bed, typed a text and fell asleep, phone still clutched in her hand, before could she hit “Send”.

***

Morning started with a phone call. Nobody in her department would believe that she wasn’t coming back. A thin young woman, who could be any age between twenty and thirty-five, stared back at Victoria from the mirror with big bright blue eyes. The woman had a worst case of bed hair, and after ten minutes of futile attempts to untangle it, Victoria haphazardly pulled it into a ponytail and headed to the kitchen to make some coffee. Deeply ingrained habits of a seasoned office worker could not just evaporate in the clean country air.

The still sealed box with the espresso machine she had given to Gran was gathering dust somewhere in the attic. As she put the jezve on the flame, Victoria almost heard Gran’s voice. “You can’t make real coffee in that! You can take it when you get married, consider this your dowry!”

Holding the big mug with both hands, nearly shivering with anticipation, like a smoker lighting up the first cigarette of the day, breathing in the fragrance that no espresso machine could produce, she stepped out into the garden and froze on the spot. There was a man sitting at the table — sprawling at the table, clearly feeling very comfortable, straddling the chair. She couldn’t tell if she knew him or not because his face was hidden behind the two-page spread of _Cumberland and Westmorland Herald_.

“Hello?” she said — asked — hesitantly.

The man put down the rustling paper and took off his black horn rim glasses. One thing for sure, she would have remembered him if she had ever met him. He wasn’t exactly conventionally handsome but he was definitely interesting. About forty-five or older? A penetrating gaze of squinting mossy green, slightly bulging eyes, high cheekbones you could cut glass with, a frowning crease on the bridge of a perfectly straight nose, wry thin lips, strong jawline, dark hair — silver on the short-cropped temples… She wasn’t really admiring him — artists are just good at noticing details really quickly. Broad shoulders under a white shirt with rolled up sleeves, big hands, long muscular legs, bare feet squeezed into… furry purple slippers two sizes too small. The stranger got up from — dismounted — the chair, but not like any normal person would, no, he threw one leg over the back of the chair in a quick elegant, almost acrobatic movement. And he managed to keep both slippers on. The man folded the paper, shoved his hands into the pockets of his black slacks and bowed his head slightly.

“Good morning.”

His voice was as interesting as his face — not velvety smooth, on the contrary, somewhat scratchy but pleasantly deep.

“Um… Do you live nearby? Can I help—”

“No. And yes,” the stranger chuckled, clearly amused by her confusion, and sniffed the air. “It smells divine. May I trouble you for a cup?”

There were not a lot of things that could strike Victoria dumb. Her own coffee forgotten, she walked dazedly back into the kitchen, poured the remaining coffee into another mug and went back outside. The unceremonious guest grunted contentedly taking a gulp, sat down, put his glasses back on and returned to his reading.

“ _George Sutherland, Conservative MP from Workington, passed after a hunting accident_. Thirty-nine. I always said hunting was evil.” He pushed the glasses down his nose and looked up at Victoria. “I like to read the obituaries first. Makes you value your life more.”

“Um… I’m sorry, what are you doing here?” she finally said.

“No need to be sorry. I slept in the annex. I moved in last night.”

As if it explained anything.

“H-how?”

The stranger arched an amused brow.

“Not particularly comfortable. It was rather chilly at night and I couldn’t find the blanket. Where did you put it?”

Her caffeine-deprived brain buzzing as she wondered what she could use for self-defense, Victoria slowly backed away.

“It’s locked. Was locked. You broke in. It’s breaking and entering.”

“I won’t deny the entering part,” the man frowned quizzically, standing up. “But there was no breaking in. I have the keys.”

“T-the keys?”

“The keys. Didn’t Charlotte tell you?”

Victoria paused.

“I see. She didn’t.” The man sighed, put his glasses and the paper on the table and stepped towards Victoria, holding out a hand. Victoria recoiled instinctively, her searching fingers closing around the spade handle. It was the man’s turn to recoil now. “Victoria, please calm down. Victoria, my name is William Lamb,” he said, slowly, cajolingly, like a negotiator to a terrorist in a hostage situation. “Professor Lamb. I teach classical and Byzantine literature at King’s College London. Victoria, please put your spade down. Potatoes aren’t ripe for harvesting yet.”

“Potatoes?!” Victoria dropped the spade, getting really angry. “Stop messing with my head! Professor or not, where did you get the keys? And how do you know my name?”

“Charlotte gave them to me, so that I could come whenever I liked. It has been a while but I heard about her passing a couple of days ago and… Please accept my sincere condolences. I did attend the wake but it was quite a gathering, no wonder you didn’t see me.”

“Thank you. How did you know my grandmother?” Victoria was still apprehensive.

“How should I put it…” The professor cleared his throat in what looked like embarrassment and jammed his hands into his pockets again. “Well, she gave me the keys… You know?”

She folded her arms across her chest to hide the shiver. Yes, she was beginning to understand but she had every intention to make him squirm a little — she shouldn’t be the only one feeling embarrassed. So it was him. The very close friend Emma Portman had mentioned. Oh, Nan.

“She taught at Queen Mary University. So did I, back when I first started teaching. She loved Mozart. So did I. She grew flowers. So did I. Long story short, I have the keys, and I am going to stay here for a while,” he concluded abruptly, tilting his chin up defiantly.

“Hold on a minute. This is my grandmother’s house. What do you mean you’re going to stay here? This is my grandmother’s house!” Victoria shook with indignation.

“Exactly. Your grandmother’s — but not yours, not yet anyway. I don’t know whose name is in Charlotte’s will but even if it _is_ yours, the formalities will take some time. For now, I have the same right to be here as you do. I have the keys.” The professor sighed and added softer, “Look, Victoria, I am not here to claim anything and I am not going to disturb you. I will work quietly in the annex, cook my meals there, and you won’t even know I’m here. It’s only until the end of summer vacation.”

Victoria sniffed incredulously, wrapping the robe tighter around her chest.

“Don’t be so nervous, I have already seen everything.”

“What?”

“Last night. You. By the river,” the professor said nonchalantly and turned to stroll towards the annex, scraping the ridiculous slippers across the gravel, the paper — her paper — under his arm, leaving Victoria to stare after him, gaping like a fish.


	2. Chapter 2

Victoria spent the rest of the day doing various little chores. She rode her old bike to the shop a few times — first for some fresh groceries, then to get a couple of light bulbs to replace the burnt-out ones… In the end, she decided to streamline the process and walk around the house and the grounds to make a comprehensive list. Soon, she stood in front of the garage occupied by the professor’s Ford Focus. The bastard had never even asked, like he owned the place. She kicked the shiny navy-blue metal — the revenge was petty but satisfying — as she made her way past it to the neatly stacked wooden and carton boxes. Some contained bags with plant seeds — Victoria couldn’t even pronounce the exotic names — and contraptions of unknown but most likely gardening purposes. Putting aside another box of Gran’s botanic treasures, she found an easel wrapped in burlap and let out a triumphant squeal. The next box she opened was full of brushes, charcoal and pastel pencils, tubes of oil paints, almost all unsealed and hard to open, a brand new water color paint set… She felt her pulse speed up: she forgot how much fun she had skipping boring philosophy lectures to go through all those wonderful things on the shelves of art supplies shops. No surprise there, though — she hadn’t really painted since she gave up on her dream to get into the Royal College of Art and enrolled in the London School of Economics and Political Science on her mother’s and Uncle Leo’s insistence (“Alexandra, I let you take both art school and business school but it’s about time you grew up. Painting is not a profession!”).

She had to throw away a few dry tubes and brushes, thinking that the rest would do for now and that she would buy the missing pigments when she went, say, to Cockermouth. She dragged the easel and the precious box outside, not forgetting to kick the professor’s car again, and got busy. The next thing she knew, she could no longer tell cobalt from Prussian blue and the sky went from cerulean to indigo. Her stomach rumbled loudly. Victoria grinned and wiped her stained hands on the ruined T-shirt, put the easel back into the garage and flew to the house on the wings of her successful return to the world of art.

  
Chewing Aunt Sofia’s chicken casserole, she looked thoughtfully at the lit windows of the annex, wondering what _the bastard_ was having for dinner. Did he really know how to cook? Then again, a man his age, clearly single if he was going to spend two whole months in the country… he probably did. Shaking off the unbidden thoughts, she took a quick shower and passed out while waiting for a reply message from her best friend, her hair still wet again.

***

As she was taking the laundry out of the washer and putting it into the dryer the next morning, she found in the latter a white shirt that definitely didn’t belong to her, and a bit later she didn’t find the paper in the mailbox. Neither surprised her or made her mad — she was probably still elated from last night. But she did resolve to establish a few ground rules and convey them to her unwanted neighbor.

The annex door stood ajar. The small structure — more of a barn actually — had no kind of antechamber and, standing on the porch, Victoria could see the entire room and even the inside of the bathroom that was open as well. Professor Lamb, white shirt with rolled up sleeves, same black slacks, sat at the desk, fingers of both hands buried in his disheveled hair, staring at the screen of his laptop. She knocked lightly on the door.

“Morning, Professor Lamb.”

He looked up at her with unfocused eyes. Oh God, was he drunk, so early in the morning? Just her luck. Victoria gave the room a quick once-over. Everything looked neat enough, even the bed was made. She didn’t see anything disturbing on the desk either: a printed connected to the laptop, several books, a black notebook and a paper bag from the local bakery. A bottle of water. The professor blinked in surprise, as though he hadn’t been staring at her for a good minute, and jumped up.

“Victoria. Good morning.”

“Is that your breakfast?” she nodded at the paper bag and the bottle.

“The stove won’t work,” he shrugged. “What brings you to this humble abode?”

“You ran the washing machine for one shirt.”

“What can I do, I only brought three and it’s the middle of summer in case you haven’t noticed.”

“It’s a waste of water and electricity. Also, the amount of detergent you used… Then again, what else would you expect from the generation that destroyed this planet.”

The professor chuckled.

“How old do you think I am? Also, maybe you should read a couple of environmental reports on your family business, you’ll probably find a lot of interesting stuff there.”

Victoria had read them. Another reason in a full jar of reasons she wanted to have nothing to do with the family business.

“Put your dirty laundry in the hamper. I will wash them with mine.”

The professor threw up his hands.

“I promised I wouldn’t disturb you but since you’re asking, I can’t refuse a lady.”

Victoria look back in the doorway.

“Why are you being so fancy anyway? This isn’t London, you know.”

“It surprises me that a Hanover would find a white shirt the pinnacle of fancy.” He hesitated a little before explaining, “I was packing in a hurry, just threw the first thing that came to hand into the bag and never changed out of what I was wearing that day.”

Victoria looked down. The furry purple slippers stood by the doorstep.

“Did you love her?”

The professor sat back to the desk without saying a word and started tapping on the keys. Victoria stood in the doorway for half a minute. The answer never came but as she ran down the steps, she heard a sigh and the sound of the laptop lid being slammed shut.

“Come and have some breakfast,” she said quietly, lingering under the high window. “I made coffee.”

***

The breakfast was nothing special but pretty much edible. Even her cooking experience was enough to fry some eggs, she was second to none in coffee making thanks to Gran, orange juice had been bought the previous day and Aunt Sofia, who lived nearby, brought fresh bread.

Sofia was the sister of Victoria’s father. When she had been a young university student, she became pregnant — the normally demure and obedient girl never confessed who the father was, not to her stern father with his thunderous threats, not to her patient mother with her soft persuasions. It was too late to get an abortion but she wasn’t allowed to keep the baby either, and the boy was put up for adoption. Sofia graduated with a degree in English literature but she refused to live in London, showing uncharacteristic resolve for the second time in her life. She went to the Lake District, the older Hanovers’ favorite domestic vacation destination, got a teaching position in Melvic and stayed there, never touching the family money. It was on her insistence that Charlotte brought her husband to Melvic when he couldn’t make anyone toe the line any longer.

Victoria said goodbye to her aunt, but not before making a solemn promise to come to her place for a baking lesson sometime. Ten minutes later, the professor still wasn’t coming. Almost seething, nostrils flaring, she stormed out into the garden, about to repeat her courteous invitation in a less civilized form, but stopped short as she noticed out of the corner of her eye a white spot on the bench by the annex. Aunt Sofia was heatedly saying something to the professor who sat next to her and grabbing his hands. The professor nodded his head, looking very earnest.

“Sofia, what’s going on? Professor?”

He started and smiled a slightly guilty smile when he saw her.

“Your aunt and I haven’t seen each other in a while, we’re catching up.”

Sofia smiled too.

“It’s such a shame that you and Mom lost touch. She always spoke so warmly of you. Victoria, I was just telling William how great it is that he moved in. More fun for you.”

Victoria snorted.

“Oh yeah, so much fun. I can’t stop laughing.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, dear,” Sofia rose up with an effort, leaning on the professor’s arm — his reaction was lightning fast. “Well, I should go, don’t let me bother you, young people.”

“Not that young,” Victoria laughed.

“Speak for yourself,” the professor interjected and winked at Sofia, pressing a gallant kiss to the back of her hand.

He ate in silence, picking up the yoke with the bread crust. _Would it kill him to say something nice about the food?_ Victoria thought disapprovingly, reluctantly admiring the nimble movements of the long fingers.

“Does Aunt Sofia know the exact nature of the relationship between you and her mother?”

The professor almost choked on his coffee.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” he finally rasped. “Be as it may, she would hardly judge her mother, given her own past.”

“You know about that as well?”

“Why do you sound so surprised? Charlotte and I were friends first and foremost. Do you think it was the call of flesh that kept urging me to drive three hundred miles and back?” He looked up at Victoria’s flushed cheeks and put down his fork with a sigh. “Let’s not bring it up again. Please. You are clearly uncomfortable, and I feel rather self-conscious discussing this with the _granddaughter_ of the woman I used to love.”

 _The woman he used to love._ It was so weird. So incredibly wild. Victoria leapt to her feet, rushing about as she gathered the dirty dishes. The long fingers she had been admiring two minutes ago covered her hand.

“Please, leave it, I’ll clean the table. I’ll wash the dishes too,” he said quietly. “It’s the least I can do to thank you. And please, forgive my… lack of consideration. I find myself blurting out things without thinking lately.”

She watched his straight back, the nape of his neck bent over the sink, unconsciously rubbing the back of her right hand that still felt the warmth of his palm. When she became conscious of her gesture, she snatched her other hand off and shook her head to fend off the strange feeling.

“Professor. Um. Dinner at seven. Sounds good?” she said loudly (too loudly). “I can’t promise you lunch because I might forget but there’s a full fridge of food, you can microwave something for yourself.”

The professor’s foam-covered hands ( _I should get rubber gloves_ , she thought) froze. He turned around, giving her a stunned look, and his lips stretched in a slow, hesitant, somewhat shy smile. Victoria felt a pinch somewhere deep in her chest. _Oh Nan, was it like this for you too?_

“Sounds great,” he said, tapping the tips of his fingers on the edge of the sink.

“I’ll be in the garden by the garage, just so you know.”

“Victoria.”

She paused to look at him.

“Thank you.”

She nodded and continued her way to the bedroom but lingered, hand on the doorknob, watching him carefully putting the dried dishes on the cupboard shelves, walking to the door, squeezing his feet into the horrible purple slippers… freezing by the doorstep as he noticed the peach colored scarf on the hanger. Awkwardly raising his hand and reaching for it. Victoria turned away, closed the bedroom door and sat on the bed, lost in thought.

***

Half an hour later, she banged on the annex window and bit down her laughter when the professor leaned out, his eyes open wide.

“Come on out!” she ordered cheerfully.

“What’s the matter? Is there a fire? A flood?”

“Farm work!”

The professor rolled his eyes.

“I am an intellectual, manual labor does not agree with me.”

Anticipating the futility of peaceful negotiations, Victoria ran up the steps and into the room.

“Since you live here and eat at my expense, you should make yourself useful.”

“Let me remind you that I have just washed all your dirty dishes.”

“You ate out of those dishes, so that doesn’t count.” She grabbed him by the sleeve and tugged. To her surprise, he didn’t put up any resistance.

She let go of his sleeve when she brought him to the woodpile. While the bewildered professor was looking around, she found the axe and threw it to his feet. He sprang back.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why do you keep coming at me with cold steel?” he grumbled. “What is this strange, unhealthy fascination? A fixation. What does your therapist say about this? You do have a therapist, don’t you?”

Victoria did have a therapist. Once a week she tormented Dr. Clarke, trying to make sense of her relationship with her mother, with Albert, with the world, and with herself.

“It’s a family thing,” she said calmly, shuddering inside at the memory of the clockwork prince, drunk in her company for the first time ever, sobbing as he talked about his mother, cutting the shirt on his chest with a steak knife. It had scared the shit out of her back then. It had also made her a lot more accepting of Albert — crazy was normal. “Don’t just stand there. It’s already been sawn. Just take the axe and split the logs.”

“I have never split logs in my life.”

“It’s not rocket science. Look.” She put a log on the chopping block and split it in half with a quick stroke, holding the handle with both hands. “Go on.”

“What do you even need firewood for?” The professor reluctantly approached the block. “Are you going to bake potatoes in the campfire?”

“Potatoes wouldn’t be so bad,” Victoria said, her hands on her hips. “I just want it done, okay? Chop away.”

She could use the firewood for the sauna later — it had a wood burning stove.

“Yes, ma’am. …The heir of Hanover Industries chopping firewood — no one would believe me if I told them.”

“I’m not an heir of anything. And Gran used to tell me: don’t be a princess.”

“That’s right, be a queen,” the professor laughed, raising the axe. “I don’t know what came over you but I like it.” The halves of the log dropped on the grass. He put up a new on. “I was sitting there, racking my brain.” Another stroke. “Trying to come up with something. I thought we’d just stay like this. Sulking each in our respective corners.” He put down the axe, catching his breath, and turned to her. “Wow, I think I have discovered a few new muscles.”

Her heart faltered, went still for a moment and started pounding as though she was the one who had just split five logs in one breath. So, as she sat there thinking of a way to distract him from sad thoughts, he was doing the same for her.

“That’s great,” she murmured.

The professor frowned.

“Yes, I can see that. Deflated again, your majesty?”

She forced out a laugh.

“Not deflated at all. Well, go on, you’re doing splendidly. I’ll go get some painting done. Can’t lose light.”

She marched to the garage quickly, feeling his intent stare on her back.

It was about three in the afternoon when she looked away from the easel. She took the baseball cap off and wiped the sweaty forehead with the heel of her hand. She stepped back, winced as she examined her creation meticulously, turned to the box with the supplies and jumped. Sat on the tubes of paint was a plate with two baked sandwiches — ham and tomato, cheese and pickles — covered carefully with a paper napkin.

***

They fell into the habit of eating together, taking turn cooking — or just following their mood. Victoria, who had never really liked cooking, browsed the Internet for recipes. Very simple, basic recipes — she didn’t want him to imagine anything. Professor Lamb would come precisely on time, always polite, always moderately complimentary of her culinary endeavors. He would talk about his work, sometimes animatedly, sometimes in a few words, do the dishes and go away, shuffling his purple slippers. He didn’t seem bothered by Gran’s scarf anymore. Victoria saw him once by the greenhouse. He stood in front of the double doors, looking at the massive padlock, thoughtfully turning the heavy key (that she had seen in the garage before) over in his fingers. She waited breathlessly but he turned around, put the key in his pocket and walked to the annex.

She came back from the shops one day and knocked on his door. The professor opened, looking very disheveled.

“Your majesty. Forgive my disarray. I was not expecting visitors. There is a battle raging on.”

“Did St John Chrysostom do this to you?”

He raised his eyebrows, perplexed. Victoria dabbed at the black stain on his stubbly chin with her finger.

“Do you need some nail polish remover or something?” she laughed as she watched his vain attempts to get rid of the stain using the dark screen of his phone like a mirror and cursing the damned uncooperating printer.

“To what do I owe the honor of seeing you, ma’am?” he croaked, his eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

“Well, to this.” Victoria pulled a plastic bag out of her shopping tote and produced a pair of plain men’s velcro strap sandals. “Not much, sorry, but it’s all they had. About ten, ten and a half?”

“About right,” he said slowly, taking the gift and falling silent for a minute, his eyes fixed on hers. “I think you would make a great mother,” he added, finally looking away. “You’re even taking such good care of someone you can’t stand.”

“Yeah right. I hate children. And another thing: a) I _can_ stand you, otherwise I would have put something in your coffee a long time ago, and b) it’s not you I’m taking care of.” Victoria sighed, entering the room. “I just can’t look at those slippers anymore. I keep getting these… images.”

The professor smirked. Whenever he used this weird smirk — smug and embarrassed at the same time — Victoria, who thought that she had finally figured him out, categorized and filed him, felt lost, flustered and, deep down, disarmed.

“Um. I also wanted to warn you. A friend is coming to see me tomorrow. I didn’t tell her the details of your stay here, so don’t you dare blurt anything out.”

William Lamb feigned a look of utter insult.

“Your majesty, if I may, I am a man of exceptional tact…”

Victoria hummed skeptically.

“Ma’am, I am a grown well-educated man, a university professor...”

“We’ll see. Well, go on, show me your device.”

The professor arched a brazen brow and opened his mouth, beaming with joy, but without giving it any thought, Victoria immediately covered it with her hand. Both froze in awkward poses, staring at each other — he with amazement in wide green eyes, she with panic, feeling the wet warmth of his lips on her palm. It took her brain two endless seconds to send a desperate command to her body. She snatched her hand back.

“Your printer! Show me your printer.”


	3. Chapter 3

Nancy’s train was arriving at half past one. Victoria was nervous as she waited at the Penrith station to pick her up. Maybe she was anxious that her best friend’s presence here might remind her of the big world she had abandoned, submerging her in doubts, maybe she anticipated being admonished or persuaded to go back — or judged for her odd… company. Then again, why would she be ashamed because of the latter? She hadn’t called or invited _the_ _bastard_. Screw him anyway. He had pissed her off again this morning by not showing up for breakfast. When Victoria went to fetch him, she found the annex door locked. She pulled the handle, she knocked — nothing. Where had he gone to? Was she supposed to cook his share of lunch or not? It wasn’t because she’d embarrassed him the day before, was it? He didn’t seem like the kind to get embarrassed… He couldn’t just leave for good without saying a word to her, could he?

“What a mess you’ve left us in, girlfriend!” The blond tornado nearly knocked her off her feet and whirled her around. Victoria burst out laughing, her anxiety forgotten. “The entire department is still buzzing!”

Nancy came to Hanover Industries when Victoria, who had been graciously allowed to pick a department for inevitable future promotion, had already worked there as a junior designer for a year. The young women became friends, and although Nancy was a mere office manager seven years later, whereas Victoria was promoted to the head of department, it had no effect on their friendship. They shared everything: from existential angst and identity crisis, clothes and makeup, family- or men-related sob stories (as Nancy giggled, Victoria was good at mixing the latter, referring to the remote familial ties between her and Albert). Or almost everything. Victoria hadn’t included the details of her grandmother’s personal life in her long texts from the Lake District.

Nancy hadn’t been able to make it to the funeral but she hurried to Victoria’s side as soon as she took her vacation. The route from London to Melvic wasn’t so much long as inconvenient. Bus from Cockermouth was the only public transportation in Melvic, and the airport nearest to Cockermouth was in Carlisle. Unfortunately, Nancy couldn’t get a ticket to the only flight, so the only options left were driving or taking a train to Penrith. Judging by Nancy’s suspiciously high spirits, she had made the right choice.

“Well, how you’ve been? I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” she said in a more serious tone, searching Victoria’s face. Before leaving the house, Victoria had spent a couple of minutes in front of the bathroom mirror, going through her toiletry bag, but eventually given up on the idea. “That shitty, huh?”

“I don’t know if _shitty_ is the right word,” Victoria shook her head uncertainly. “Complicated.”

The air around Nancy almost visibly sparkled, spreading the distinct aroma of alcohol, as she babbled excitedly, alternating between gossip and enthusiastic expressions of delight at the picturesque Cumbrian landscapes outside the car window.

“Oh, guess who came last week from Mo—”

“Nancy!” Victoria pleaded, snatching the lighter out of her friend’s hand. “First, slow down, please, second, Alex has already called me, and third, you smoking in a confined space is not a good idea right now, it’s like smoking at a gas station. When did you even manage to imbibe and what was the occasion?”

“Oh, this. Nothing much, just celebrating something,” Nancy said with studied nonchalance, thrusting her left hand under Victoria’s nose, demonstrating the ring finger with the neat little pink diamond mounted in platinum.

“I didn’t think McDonalds had such an exquisite taste,” Victoria gasped mockingly and laughed as Nancy’s fist jabbed her playfully in the shoulder. “Ouch. Sorry, Mackintosh? Macbeth?”

“It’s not Angus, it’s Charlie!”

“Charlie! Thank god! A triumph of Francatelli and common sense. Italy—Scotland 3:1! Long live lasagna, off with haggis!”

“Vic, you do realize it was never a question of choice, right? I never needed anyone but Charlie. He just needed to understand and accept that I wouldn’t become a housewife for him.”

Victoria glanced at Nancy’s suddenly earnest face in confusion and pulled over.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I just… I just don’t want you to think… I never even kissed Angus, you know? Do you believe me?”

“I do, of course, I do. I’m really happy for you both.” Victoria stroked her friend’s hand and asked gingerly, “You had been celebrating right before you boarded the train, right? And you went on celebrating _on_ the train. Right?”

“Right!” Nancy nodded enthusiastically. “I am just _so_ happy, you know?”

Victoria giggled, starting the car.

“I know. I can see it. I can also smell it!”

***

“At least I can finally put my own car in the garage,” she thought with annoyance driving up her street. But the garage was occupied with the professor’s car again. She groaned, dropping her head on the wheel. Nancy, who had dozed off as they were leaving Cockermouth, jumped at the sudden shriek of the horn.

“I’m not asleep, Mrs. Jenkins!” she mumbled, straightening up.

Victoria giggled despite her inner turmoil.

“Vietnam flashbacks?”

Mrs. Jenkins used to be Nancy’s immediate superior. Victoria had been heading the design department for almost a year by then but she too was a little scared of that woman of uncertain age with invariably sour expression on her round face, steep demands for discipline and draconian measures of punishment for its violation. Nancy, who liked to party not just on weekends, would find herself the object of Mrs. Jenkins’s attention more often than many. Mrs. Jenkins had resigned for family reasons quite a while ago, but the trauma was still there.

“Are we there already?” Nancy stretched with gusto and looked out into the window. “Why the commotion?”

“Oh, just a side effect,” Victoria muttered.

The professor was sitting in the garden very matter-of-factly. He stood up gracefully when he saw them. Victoria felt a new wave of annoyance wash over her: he was clean shaven, his hair was styled, he was dressed in a navy-blue polo shirt, the short sleeves of which demonstrated the unexpectedly bulging biceps, a pair of dark gray jeans and coffee-colored loafers.

“Could you please warn me when you go away, so that I don’t sit and wait for you like an idiot?” she barked without saying hello as she stormed past him to the porch. “I don’t know if there will be enough food!”

“It’s okay, I’m not that hungry.”

The professor followed her slowly, glancing back at a very perplexed Nancy.

“Oh, I see, you weren’t just dressed, you were fed as well…” This couldn’t be her talking, this was some kind of demon that possessed her. “No wonder you dashed off without leaving a note.”

“Forgive me, ma’am, I had a pressing matter to attend to.”

Victoria gave him a look full of contempt over her shoulder.

“No doubt.”

He frowned.

“I was visiting someone in Cockermouth, and I thought I should refresh my wardrobe, because if you were to buy underpants for me the next time, my self-respect might not survive it.”

The sound of a choked cough made them both spin around. Victoria turned pink. The demon inside hissed but kept its silence, curling up in a grumbling black ball.

“Oh. Erm. Um. This is Nancy, Nancy Skerrett. Nancy, this is… that… you know…”

The professor folded his arms, clearly enjoying her discomfort.

“You know, Gran’s colleague I told you about,” Victoria hissed, not looking at him.

“William Lamb.” He held out his hand. “You can call me M.”

“M-m…” Nancy held on to his hand, looking him over with almost sober appreciative eyes. “M. On Her Majesty’s secret service?”

The professor chuckled.

“In a way. It’s what _her_ majesty,” he nodded at Victoria, “calls me.”

“What are you blabbering about, insufferable man?” she said indignantly. “When did I ever call you that?”

“Literally almost every time you address me. You keep saying _Um_ or _Erm_. I used to think it was just, you know, a filler word, but then I kind of grew to like it. I think it suits me.”

“You are a grown, well-educated man, a university professor...”

Her head whipping from side to side like at a tennis match, Nancy looked with curiosity between her friends and the strange but delicious-looking man locked in a seemingly unprovoked squabble.

***

“And your wife doesn’t mind you living here?”

“I don’t think she cares at this point.”

“Oh, let me guess — you have grown apart, the relationship is cold, she doesn’t understand you and she has never understood you anyway.”

“Oh, she is definitely cold.”

“So _you_ still love her?”

“I always will. She is the mother of my children.”

“You have children too?”

“Had. A boy and a girl.”

“Had?”

“Both died.”

“You are an intriguing man. Sharing such deeply personal things with a complete stranger. Not sure I can believe any of it.”

Victoria, who had been watching this impromptu questioning from the sidelines and not really taking it seriously, couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Good for you. Don’t listen to him.”

The professor smirked and put his fork down with a clang. The serene mossy green of his eyes grew thicker and darker.

“Do you want me to tell you a story?”

“No, we don’t,” Victoria said quickly, tugging on Nancy’s sleeve.

“Oh yes, we do!” her friend objected defiantly, downing her glass in one gulp and resting her elbows on the table. Perhaps, wine at lunch hadn’t been such a good idea after all.

The professor sat back in his chair.

“Once upon a time there was a young man of five and twenty, born to a respectable well-to-do family, a lawyer with a bright future, a beautiful talented wife and an adorably baby boy. So he lived and enjoyed his life. Even when the young man found out that his boy was so unwell that he needed special care and attention, it didn’t bring him down: surely, there was nothing they couldn’t get through together. He left his law firm and started teaching at a university, because this way he could spend more time with his family. He always felt more kinship with ancient Greeks and Romans and Byzantines than with property law anyway. Besides, his colleagues at the university were great and he made new wonderful friends. Things were getting back to normal — or so it seemed to our freshly minted professor. Until he caught his darling wife with one of his great colleagues, who taught a course on romantic poets at their university. In his own bed.” He looked from Nancy, who was devouring his every word, to Victoria.

She felt she had to do something, to say something, to stop him but she sat there silent, as though mesmerized by his calm raspy voice and her own desire to _know_.

“Apparently, devoting all his time to his special child, the professor neglected his wife, who was no less special, albeit in a different way. At least that’s what he told himself. Screaming, crying, honest conversations followed… His wife repented and asked for his forgiveness and he was relieved to grant it. Soon they found out they would become parents for a second time. He was overjoyed. Unlike his wife. He tried to convince her that their daughter — and it would be a girl, he just knew it — wouldn’t necessarily be like their son. And even if she was, would they love her any less? When he said it, his wife looked at him with such horror in her eyes… And he took her to a clinic. Later, when he found her with the same colleague in their bed again—"

“Professor…” She only found enough courage for one word. Nancy seemed hypnotized, her wide eyes fixed on the professor.

He leaned forward, rapped his fingers on the tabletop and continued.

“Without making a noise, he walked out of the bedroom, went to the nursery, dressed his son, packed his backpack and took him to his mother. Later he found an apartment and moved in with the boy. He also found a good reliable nanny with the relevant work experience. He… he did feel bitter and lonely at times. His wife never even tried to contact him, to ask about their son at least. But things started to… look up, eventually. He had this… friend at the university. She was an amazing person, a woman of brilliant mind and magnetic beauty, warm-hearted, serene… majestic. She loved music with abandon and she loved exotic plants,” the professor’s voice grew softer, becoming almost wistful. Victoria lowered her eyes, recognizing the portrait he was painting. “Once she even had a dream that Mozart himself accompanied her as she sang an aria[1]. He started working in the greenhouse of his family country house, where he bred a new variety of a South African flower called the bird of paradise and named it after her[2]… All fine and dandy but the woman was married. Her husband was gravely ill and she looked after him selflessly, not entrusting anyone with this duty, finding distraction and comfort in their… friendship. But treatments wouldn’t work and doctors gave up. They recommended making the patient as comfortable as possible until the slow inevitable end. She weighed all pros and cons and decided to move to the countryside, where she would take care of her husband in peace and quiet and fresh air, coming to London occasionally to read short courses as an invited professor. Our hero wouldn’t accept this new order of things. He kept going to see her for a long time. She was still as affectionate but one day pangs of conscience defeated her loneliness and pity and she asked him not to visit anymore, unless it was strictly as a friend and a colleague. What choice did he have? His son, his precious boy, had passed away a few months prior. His wife, whom he had never divorced, killed herself a year earlier, when her lover left her. He couldn’t lose his friend as well. And yet he did. When her husband died, she cut all ties with him and he didn’t dare come uninvited. Perhaps it was only fair — after all, was he any better than his late wife? Perhaps he only got what he deserved. Gossip and rumors followed him wherever he went. He found a job at a different university, he became cynical and selfish and grew a thick skin. With one exception: any mention of romantic poets and the names _John_ and _Gordon_ in any combination still give him stomach cramps.” William Lamb picked a slice of ham with his fork, put it in his mouth, chewed it carefully and swallowed. Victoria felt as if an invisible hand had reached into her chest and squeezed her heart and her lungs. How could he smile when even she was in so much pain just to hear about it all? “So you tell me now, ladies, do you think a person with a history like this cares what other people think about him?”

***

Worn out by the long trip and feeling subdued after the professor’s story, Nancy decided to get some rest after lunch. Victoria closed the guest bedroom door and headed for the kitchen, where the professor was busy with the dishes. She leaned on the granite counter, feeling that she should say something and unable to find the words. _How do you even find the strength to open your eyes in the morning?_

“I don’t think you’re cynical. Or selfish. And you don’t have a thick skin.”

The water stopped splashing. She saw the professor’s shoulders tense. _Please don’t turn around,_ she thought, _I don’t know what to do if you turn around._

He nodded.

“Pity,” he said hoarsely.

“Well, you can be a bit of an asshole sometimes,” she blurted out without thinking and closed her eyes, angry at herself, but he chuckled. She smiled, relieved. They were on the familiar territory now. “But I think it’s a defense mechanism. What does your therapist say about that?”

“That I should think less and spend more time outdoors.” He turned after all, wiping his hands on the towel. “Care to join me for a walk?”

“What, right now?”

“Do you have other plans? Your friend seems to have overdone it with… the lunch, bed is the best company for her at the moment.”

“Well, I was going to take out the easel again but to be honest, my latest attempts haven’t been particularly inspiring…”

“Right!” The professor slapped his forehead. “I completely forgot! Please, your majesty, follow me.”

Intrigued, Victoria followed him out into the garden. The professor flew up the steps into the annex and re-emerged with a plastic bag labeled “Cockermouth Art & Craft”.

“I accidentally found your list in the garage.”

Victoria fished out a random tube of paint. Cerulean.

The professor tipped his head, looking at the clear cloudless sky.

“Sky blue.” He squinted and met her gaze. “You’re going to need it if you ever want to have a go at a self-portrait.”

Victoria smiled, a little lost.

“Thank you. You meant summer landscape.”

“I meant self-portrait.” He sighed and added a little slyly, “Judging by your hair, you haven’t looked in a mirror for so long that you forgot the color of your own eyes.”

Victoria good-naturedly punched his shoulder.

“You are a master of flattery, aren’t you?”

“A beautiful, intelligent, talented woman like you doesn’t need flattery. You looked perfect at the wake, not a hair out of place, flawless makeup, and that dress really complimented your figure. You were a model of patience and politeness with everyone who approached you for whatever ridiculous reason. I looked at you and I thought how much you looked like Charlotte.” Victoria flinched, for some reason horrified and sickened by the comparison. “Her appearance was always impeccable, her manners and actions polished and immaculate — well, apart from the obvious, of course. And she was always miserable. She was never happy. I looked at you and I thought how miserable you must be. Yes, I realize it must sound odd, coming from me of all people.” He chuckled. “And then you jumped out of the river—” He stopped short as he noticed Victoria’s flushed cheeks. “Alright, you jumped out of the house, looking like a ruffled little sparrow in a fluffy robe, treated me to coffee, threatened me with a spade, fed me breakfast and you gave as good as you got… You are not like her at all. I’m sure that even if you’re not happy now, you are not miserable either. And you will definitely be happy someday.”

Victoria fumbled with the corner of the plastic bag, not daring to meet his eyes.

“Now, how about that walk I mentioned?”

“Only if it’s a bike ride instead of a walk.” She finally looked up at him.

“I don’t have a bike.”

“Well, then you’re walking and I’m riding. I haven’t ridden the bike in ages, can’t get enough of it! Or we can take turns!”

[1] True story. Well, a reference to one anyway. When Mozart was a young boy, he did perform with Queen Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen Victoria’s grandmother, who was a great patron of the arts.

[2] Also true story. The Latin name of bird of paradise is Strelitzia reginae — as in “Strelitz” and as in “queen”.


	4. Chapter 4

“May I ask you a question?”

Victoria gave him a sidelong glance. She was slowly pedaling through the lovely landscape, feeling very serene. The professor walked beside her, looking around. The ground on one side of the road was rising, turning into a mound, spreading like an emerald green carpet on the other.

“Go ahead.”

“Why _are_ you here?”

“What a profound philosophical question! I can tell you’re a classics professor.”

“Very funny. Why won’t you go back to London? When I was mingling with your relatives, I heard a lot about your talents and abilities that you decided to bury in the Lake District. It is rather beautiful here, I won’t argue that, but for a young woman… Unless you want to follow in your Aunt Sofia’s footsteps?”

She sighed, looking into the distance.

“I always did what they wanted me to do.”

“They?”

“My mom. My father. My stepfather. Uncle Leopold. Uncle Bill. Grandpa.”

“And what did _you_ want?”

Victoria sucked in a lungful of sweet clean air.

“I wanted to be free.”

“It is not enough merely to exist, I need freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion…”

“I wanted to create… And even if I failed as an artists, I wanted at least to have a choice. Maybe I would have come to the company of my own accord eventually, happy to climb the greasy pole on my own merit… if only they didn’t bring up my duty to the family all the time, if they didn’t promote me just because I’m a Hanover. I liked the business school, you know. But I was forced to join them and without rose-tinted glasses I saw a lot of things I would otherwise have only seen by the age of forty or so… Do you think my mother, who never worked a day in her life, or her brother, who never even worked with my department, really believe in me and my abilities?”

The professor shrugged.

“Does it matter? If you do have what it takes.”

“It does! Of course, they know I’m not an idiot but they think I’m impulsive and naïve and they believe that if they put me in the CEO office, they would be able to run the company through me. That I am easy to manipulate.”

“Manipulating you is like manipulating a rampant tiger who broke out of its cage,” the professor chuckled. "I wouldn’t even try.”

“See, you’ve known me for how long — a couple of weeks? And you already understand that.”

“Why not just take the office and manipulate _them_?  
  


“Because to take it and to keep it, I have to become like them. My cousins, Uncle Bill’s sons, might not be gurus of management but they don’t deserve to be stabbed in the back.”

“What if—"

“Professor,” she interrupted. “I am just so tired of all that shit. I just want… well, I don’t know what I want, but the bright lights of London make me sick right now. I came here to look after Gran, and I was so happy to have this excuse to run away. I haven’t been this happy in ages, even though Gran is gone. I have my savings. I have my freedom and my sunshine. The only thing missing is a little flower.”

The professor nodded thoughtfully. He looked like he was about to say something but Victoria’s phone started ringing.

“Oh, look, Nancy’s up. We should hurry back unless we want her to drink all our alcohol.”

 _Our_? Why did she say _our_? The professor gave her an odd look but didn’t comment.

“My turn on the bike!” he said.

“You are such a gentleman!”

He laughed.

“A deal is a deal! Are you not a woman of honor? Take the rear rack.”

“Are you insane?!” she feigned horror, hopping off the saddle. “This Bolivar is too ancient to carry double!”

“You can’t weigh more than a baby chicken. Bolivar won’t even feel it.”

It was nice to go like this, with her forehead softly hitting the professor’s broad warm back — she didn’t dare to hold on to his waist.

“Stop playing Woodie the Woodpecker, hold on properly. I’m going to speed up and lose you in a ditch!”

The bike was indeed going faster. Victoria yelped and wrapped both her arms around the professor’s torso, pressing her cheek to his back. Riding like this was even nicer — just as she feared.

“Just be careful not to tickle me, I’m very ticklish and might start kicking,” a chuckle rolled through his body and vibrated under her cheek. “Oh, hey, my phone is in my back pocket and it seems to be buzzing — can you get it and look who it is?”

Her menacing suspicious squint had no effect, because the professor had no eyes at the back of his head. She freed one of her hands and carefully pulled the vibrating smartphone out of the back pocket of his jeans. The caller ID on the glowing screen said MY ONE AND ONLY. Victoria stared at the screen with unseeing eyes, a dull ache throbbing in her chest. The phone stopped vibrating and a few seconds later an incoming text notification popped up on the locked screen. _Will, you forgot your glasses. Your love…_ The words swam before her eyes.

“Well, who is it?”

“Scumbag.”

“Who?” the professor asked, turning his head slightly.

“Scumbag!” she yelled as her fist dug painfully into his ribs.

The professor forgot about the pedals, too stunned by the attack. Victoria managed to hop off the rack, still clutching his phone. Professor Lamb floundered in the roadside dust, trying to push the bike off himself. She towered over him like a thundercloud.

“You fucking slimeball!”

“Are you having a heatstroke?!” he bellowed.

“You son of a bitch, you bastard, you lied, didn’t you? It was all a lie! There was no cheating wife, no sick child, nothing…” she shoved the phone into his hands. “Did you tell that fucking sappy, tearjerker of a story to Gran too? I knew it, there was no way she would have falled for a fucking asshole like— Are you even a professor or was that a load of bullshit as well?”

Finally free from the bike, the professor sat up and unlocked the screen with shaking fingers. She watched him, eyes glaring with hatred. If stares could kill, William Lamb, if that was even his name, would be cremated and scattered in the wind by now.

“There you go,” he sighed, holding up his phone.

“I’m not touching that thing with a ten foot pole!”

He caught her hand and forced the black rectangle into it.

“Just read the rest of it, will you?”  
  


_Will, you forgot your glasses. Your lovely sister is forcing me to do the unthinkable and go to the godforsaken village you have secluded yourself in. I am a busy man, I have a town to take care of. Please come and get them yourself, don’t wreck this home._

“I— I don’t understand,” she muttered. “Who is this and why _my one and only_?”

“Exactly,” the professor grumbled, scrambling to his feet with a groan. “You don’t understand but you’re quick to maim and mangle. You act first, then you act again, and you only think when you’re forced to. My one and only sister. I only have one sister, okay? That nitwit Henry must have left his phone in the office again.”

“Henry?”

“Henry is her husband. They live in Cockermouth. I went to see them this morning and forgot my glasses at their place. Any other questions?”

“I’m sorry,” Victoria said very quietly, in a strangled voice, hanging her head in shame. Whether she was ashamed of her hysterical fit or of what caused it in the first place, she couldn’t say.

“Water under the bridge. But we’re walking the rest of the way.”

***

She had to tell Nancy about their walk/ride because she was waiting in the garden, nursing her aching head. When she saw them together, she could barely wait for the professor to disappear into the annex to start asking question. Victoria didn’t tell her about the incident with the phone, but even the rest was enough to make her friend swoon and roll her eyes dreamily.

The professor didn’t come to dinner but he had given them a heads up, adding, as he stared pointedly at Victoria, that he was going to Cockermouth.

It was long after midnight. From time to time, Victoria got up to look out of the window but the dark and the silence weren’t broken by headlights or the roar of a car engine. He must have decided to spend the night at his sister’s. Or to leave altogether, as far from her histrionics as possible. Served her right.

“This professor of yours is not bad at all,” Nancy exhaled wistfully, reaching for the almost empty bottle of Sheridan’s.

“He’s not mine!”

“I couldn’t help noticing you’re not arguing he’s not bad at all.”

Victoria waved her arms, wordlessly and somewhat clumsily.

“Stop with the… miming.” Nancy straightened up, grabbing her by the elbows. “Look, Vic, don’t be stupid, okay? You’re so hung up on your Albert, and you’re not getting any younger, and here you have this yummy piece of ass going to waste. A doubly— thricely tragic figure, a soul thirsting for love—”

“What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know anything! Anything! Do you even know he’s, like, at least fifty?”

“Whoa, I did not expect you to be age— aegi— ageist! I hope Charlie will look half as gorgeous when he’s his age.”

“Fine, to hell with the age, but like, you don’t know some things!”

“Well, what about those things? So you inherited him from your Gran, so what?”

Victoria froze, staring at her friend with wide horror-stricken eyes.

“Oh my god, did he tell you? When did he even… What a blabbermouth! I’m going to—”

“Settle down, he didn’t tell me anything. Only an idiot wouldn’t put two and two together after his _story_. Also, I have found a photo.”

The professor looked young in the photo — probably not even thirty-five, unkempt dark curls, almost no wrinkles in the corners of his eyes. He had one of his arms around Charlotte’s shoulders. Gran looked her age — about sixty — which was not like her, always youthful and energetic. Victoria remembered that time. Her grandfather already had one foot in the grave, and Gran barely slept, still refusing to entrust him to professional caregivers and only occasionally leaving him with Sofia. They stood in the greenhouse, which was already feeling the neglect, abandoned by Gran’s caring hands. She wondered who had taken the photo. Maybe it was self-timer…

...Woken by the photo, her memory carried her back to that fateful summer when her father had died. It is him; he is the man Gran is whispering to, that tall dark-haired young man. She can’t see his face — only his hand on Gran’s shoulder as they walk to the greenhouse, and she hears the liquid whisper that quivers like the air above melting asphalt. _Don’t… not here…_

“Vic, photo or not, you should see how he looks at you…”

“How?”

“Definitely not how he would look at your Gran’s granddaughter!”

“What if he’s a rook…” Victoria sighed dejectedly, shaking the last drops of the liquor into her glass. No, she won't think about the things the professor and Gran did in the greenhouse. And she won’t think that when he was her age… that is, when he was thirty-two, she was—

“What?”

“You know, I’ve heard somewhere… I don’t remember where… like, rooks mate for life. He did say he would always love his wife. What if he’s a rook?”

“Bullshit!” Nancy’s fist shook the coffee table, making the bottle drop to its side and the crystal ashtray clink pleasantly at the collision. “His wife, alive or dead, somehow didn’t stop him from fooling around with your Nan!”

“But what if Nan was his real rookie… rook… I mean, mate,” with an effort, Victoria caught her friend’s wildly gesticulating hands. “You know what, we should just go to bed.”

“Bed is fine, bed is good,” Nancy nodded, unexpectedly amenable. “But you — you think about it. A man like him… can’t find one of those just lying waiting for you on the side of the road.”

 _You’d be surprised._ Victoria chuckled to herself, recalling that afternoon.

***

Victoria spent the next two days, sunbathing with Nancy on the riverbank and showing her around. When there was nothing left to show, she took her on a tour of Cockermouth. They walked along the River Derwent, visited Cockemouth Castle and Wordsworth House and Garden (Victoria decided not to mention the latter to the professor and save stomach cramps for another time), went to Papcastle, the site of an Ancient Roman fort. Victoria talked about her grandmother, and Nancy shared wedding plans. As though by some secret understanding, neither brought up William Lamb, all the more so since the man himself had had one lunch with them after their Sheridan’s night only to leave again. _How bloody considerate of him_ , Victoria thought with inexplicable annoyance, wondering what he had been up to for the past two days. Sensing her best friend’s mood, Nancy didn’t pester her with questions, although she was clearly curious.

On the day of Nancy’s departure, the professor emerged on the doorstep of the annex just as Victoria was putting the suitcase in the trunk, about to drive Nancy to Carlisle airport. They nodded at each other silently. He grinned at Nancy when she stormed out of the house all dressed up and enthusiastically said her goodbyes.

“Miss Skerrett—”

“Nancy!” she laughed.

“Nancy,” he nodded. “It was a pleasure and an honor meeting you. I’m glad Victoria has wonderful friends like you. I wish you didn’t have to leave so soon — had I known, I certainly would have postponed all my plans. Do visit again soon… I will teach you to chop wood.”

“What a peacock,” Victoria muttered under her nose, watching him bend over Nancy’s hand. “Gran wasn’t enough, now he’s chatting up my friend.”

When she came back an hour later, Victoria glanced through the open door of the annex without climbing the steps. The professor, who sat scribbling something in his black notebook, looked up, as though mystically feeling her gaze. He smiled — the smile was warm but not particularly cheerful, or so she thought.

“Hey. I just wanted to say — if you’re not hungry, I’ll see you in the evening.”

“Back to work?”

“Back to work.”

He stood from the desk, walked to the door and sat on the top step.

“Still hesitant about the self-portrait?”

“Professor, I’m more of a landscape artist. People are… complicated.”

“Tell me about it. Especially your own very self. And you can’t lose light.”

Victoria smiled.

“Light? No, I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” he waved and said again thoughtfully, “Can’t lose light.”

Both fell silent but there was no awkwardness this time, as though the conversation continued without words.

“Professor, may I ask you a question?” she said finally, slightly hesitating.

“Go ahead.”

She sat on the step below him to avoid seeing his face.

“Did you give Gran that scarf?”

The professor’s shadow on the gravel nodded.

“You must have noticed I put it away. I think looking at it makes you feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t say bad… more like sad,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“What for? I too feel… sad looking at it.” She turned and looked into his eyes. “That’s why I had this idea… What if I dye it in a different color?”

The professor’s eyebrowed crawled up to his hairline.

“You know, I thought I was used to it. But you keep surprising me.”

“I’ve even already googled it.” Victoria patted her thighs searching for her phone. “Wait a minute, I’ll be right back!”

She found the phone she had left in the bedroom and darted to the front door only to pause by the window as she saw a black Mercedes pull up behind the gate. The driver got out of the car and hurried to open the back door. John Conroy stepped out, looking around with a contemptuous arrogant expression on his face.

Suddenly unable to move, she watched her stepfather strut slowly through the garden. Even when she saw the professor go down the steps and approach him, her trembling sweaty fingers continued to clasp the doorknob. She couldn’t force herself to come out but she knew she had to. John always had this effect on her: she was paralyzed like a deer in the headlights. He never laid a finger on her, not once — he was too smart and inventive to openly show his animosity. His words, never technically insulting, humiliated and hurt and almost always carried a subtext understandable only to the person they were addressed to.

Victoria strained her ears but the voices were muffled and unintelligible. Only when the professor, who stood facing her, frowned, she opened the door, intent on proving once and for all that Conroy had no power over her anymore. But the professor noticed her in the doorway and furtively shook his head. She wrinkled her forehead uncomprehendingly but complied, stepping back into the house.

The conversation didn’t last longer than five minutes that felt like five hours to Victoria as she melted with impatience and curiosity. Suddenly, Conroy started poking the professor in the chest, and the professor caught his wrist and carefully but firmly pulled his hand away. Flexing his jaw muscles, Conroy turned and started to walk away but spun around abruptly and looked over the house — she barely managed to recoil from the window before he could see her. Finally, he marched out of the gate and got back in the car. The door was slammed shut and the black Mercedes took off, raising clouds of dust.

The professor stared in the general direction of the gate for half a minute, then heaved a sigh, waved at her and headed for the bench. Victoria slowly went out of the house and joined him.

“So… I have just met your stepfather. He came all this way to see his darling stepdaughter and was so disappointed. Fantastic man. He should be studied. The benefits for the medical science would be invaluable.”

“What?”

“He seems to be an inexhaustible source of venom.”

“What did you tell him to make him storm off like this?”

“Nothing out of ordinary. I told him you weren’t home. You won’t be back from Cockermouth until dark — you’re shopping, you see.”

“Didn’t he ask you who _you_ were?”

“Oh, he did.”

“What did you say?”

“I said I was a friend of Charlotte’s. I came to the funeral and you asked me to stay because you were terrified and lonely — wait, or was it terribly lonely? I can’t remember. Anyway, terrified, lonely and longing for a strong manly shoulder.”

“Professor!”

“Well, not in these exact words.”

“And?”

“And he asked what your plans were.”  
  


“And?”

“And I said that you were going to settle here, since the house is yours now.”

“Right.”

“That you would be growing potatoes and flowers and painting.”

“Right. Okay, that’s—”

“And that you would marry me.”

“What?!”

“I don’t think he appreciated the joke because he stated insulting me. Are you sure he’s not your real father? You share an inimitable style… I had a strong sense of deja vu.”

“Y-you— are you— you’re joking, right? Please tell me you didn’t really say this to him!”

“I now realize I shouldn’t have done. I apologize.”

“Do you have an idea what’s going to happen now?”

“What’s going to happen?”

As if prompted, the phone in her hand began to vibrate. Victoria leapt up, pacing around the bench.

“There we go. You— you just sit here and don’t move before you make it worse… Hi Mom. Who? When? No, I'm in Cockermouth right now. I won’t be back for a few hours. …Why did he come? Mom, please, calm down, and slow down. Who? Oh, sure. He lives nearby, drops by sometimes. What? Mom, don't be ridiculous. He’s harmless. He’s just unwell. Mentally. Yeah.” She glanced at the professor and stuck out her tongue. He shrugged. “Easy, easy, I’m not marrying anyone. Look, Mom, I’m going to have to call you back, okay? I’m driving right now. Yeah. Don’t worry.”

She hung up, exhaled noisily and plopped down on the bench next to him.

“What did I do to deserve this…”

The professor shifted awkwardly, hunched his back, his hands folded on his lap, staring at his feet in the sandals Victoria had given him.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t resist.”

“And there I was, thinking he’d talk trash about me…”

“Like, for example, that you should be committed to a mental institution, that you are unstable, hysterical, ignorant and need to be held by the hand when using stairs?”

Victoria turned pale.

“Like I said, fantastic man.” The professor sighed. “Victoria, I assure you I am quite capable of making my own opinion of anything and anyone. And not an ounce of the nonsense that pompous nonentity spouted has changed my opinion of you.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, trying hard not to burst into tears. It wasn’t that William Lamb was the first person to admit that John was an asshole and a nonentity. After all, she had great friends who were always there for her and nobody in her family was fooled by the man’s unctuous voice. But seeing someone who had barely known her two weeks step in to defend her, without a shadow of a doubt, without a moment’s hesitation, whereas her own mother—

“If we lived in a different time,” he said, “I would challenge him to a duel for insulting the lady’s honor and it would be my great pleasure to stab or shoot him. I suppose I could have punched him in the face, but unfortunately, Conroys of our time prefer pressing charges to punching back, and I happen to have unpleasant memories of police stations and courts. Unless you do marry me.” The professor winked at her and grinned. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for my lawfully wedded wife. You could even continue calling me Professor.”

Victoria laughed and sniffled.

“Don’t cry, your majesty. Don’t give assholes the satisfaction.”

“Just smile and wave?”

“Smile and wave, ma’am. And never let them know.”


	5. Chapter 5

An of hour absent-minded fiddling with the brush later, Victoria put the easel away. Her thoughts wouldn’t focus on the apple tree branches and stubbornly kept going back to William Lamb. She strolled through the garden, paused by the woodpile to thoughtfully touch the sun-warmed logs. However, she didn’t get much time to contemplate the way her unbidden guest had wormed his way into her life, because the roar of a powerful engine came from the gate, followed by a few blaring honks, and the garden was suddenly filled with loud voices.

She ran around the house and clutched at her heart: strange people in green jumpsuits were carrying barrels and pots with withered dry stalks and stems out of Gran’s greenhouse, tearing the clingy lianas of ivy off the walls, taking broken glass out of the frames… She ran up to the blond young man with a tablet in his hand who stood apart from the rest and shook him by the straps of his jumpsuit.

“What the hell is going on? What are you doing?”

The confused young man showed her the tablet.

“Um, fulfilling an order? Ah, Jesus, did we get the address wrong? Eddie!” he shouted to the driver leaning against the back of the truck parked in the gate. “Are you sure this is 15 Cocker Street?”

“This _is_ 15 Cocker Street, what do you mean, an order? What order? I never ordered anything, stop this now!”

“Victoria!”

She turned around. The professor was hurrying towards them.

“Victoria,” he said a little breathlessly, grabbing her by the shoulders and trying to pull her off the young man. “It’s alright—”

“Is this your doing?”

“Victoria, please, calm down, I can explain.”

“Who gave you the right?”

“Victoria—"

“Who said you could do whatever you want here? Just who do you think you are?” She wanted to yell and yell until her voice was gone, until she came to her senses, broke free from this intoxicating daze, this spell the impossible man had put her under.

“Erm… I’m sorry,” the young man scratched the back of his head. “You came to our office yesterday, didn’t you? Mr—" he checked with his tablet, “Lamb?”

“Yes, yes,” the professor nodded his head impatiently. “I am Mr. Lamb. Could you give us five minutes, Mr.—”

“Paget. You can call me Alfie.”  
  


“Mr. Paget, five minutes. You see, this is the lady of the house and I wanted to surprise her.”

“Surprise me?!”

“I will explain in a moment. Alfie, five minutes.”

“As you wish,” the blond smirked. “Guys, five minutes break!” he announced loudly.

Detached, as if she was looking at a TV screen, Victoria watched as the blond young man named Alfie walked up to the driver, a good-looking dark-haired man of about his age, put his arm around his shoulders and gently tousled the hair on the top of his head. Some people made it look so simple and easy. Boy meets boy, boy falls in love, they work together, tearing down other people’s greenhouses…

“Victoria.”

Slowly, she turned her head.

“The surprise part was too much, I’m willing to admit.”

“You of all people,” she interrupted him wearily, “should know what this greenhouse meant to her.”

“Just— just tell me one thing. Were you going to grow anything there?”

Victoria chortled.

“Me and plants?”

“So let me get this straight: you wanted this greenhouse to stand here like an eternal useless memorial? Victoria, there are better ways to keep the memory of your loved ones alive.”

“I thought—” the words resisted, sticking to the walls of her throat. She swallowed. “I thought you might want to…”

A shadow flashed on the professor’s face.

“After everything… Did you really think I could?”

She shrugged, the tip of her sneaker burrowing into the ground.

“How do I know what you can or cannot do?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, wincing as though in pain.

“I want to remodel it into a studio.”

Victoria lifted up her head.

“What?”

“It actually won’t take a lot of work, two or three days at most. Replacing the broken glass, rewiring, checking the frames, fixtures—”

“Studio? What studio?”

“Studio. For you. It’s warm now but autumn will be here before you know it. Just think about it: you need a room with a lot of light. It’s perfect.”

The professor proceeded to describe her future studio, while she stared at him as though she was seeing him for the first time.

“…all your supplies from the garage.”

Listening to her whimpering heart, Victoria didn’t even feel him take her hand and lead her to the greenhouse.

“As for the interior design, I suppose, you’ll know what to do better than I ever could—” he paused as he finally realized she didn’t hear a word he said. “Victoria? What’s wrong?” She felt his fingers carefully brush her cheek. “Why are you crying?”

She blinked and touched her cheek and stared at her wet fingers in confusion.

“I— I don’t know. Why?”

“I don’t know either. Do you hate my idea that much?”

“No, that’s not what I— Why did you— how— why are you doing this? All of this?”

He didn’t say anything for a while.

“You know, Charlotte was good at everything she did. She was good at painting too.”

Victoria furrowed her brow.

“She was good — but that was it. Many people are good at painting. You, on the other hand, have a gift. I have seen your sketches in the garage and I think I know enough about art. Since you seem dead set on abandoning a successful career and burying your managerial talent in this fertile land, you should at least have the right conditions to let the seed of your other talent sprout and blossom and yield fruit. Consider this a small token of my gratitude — for your company and hospitality.”

“Thank you,” she muttered and added more confidently, putting out the tiny flame of disappointment, “They should replace the hardwood flooring with something that won’t warp so much. Also, some of the windows should probably be frosted glass. I’ll tell them which ones.”

The professor chuckled and waved at the people in jumpsuits who had been waiting impatiently by the truck. Alfie Paget reluctantly took his arm off his dark-haired driver. Nope, things would never be as simple for her.

***

Aunt Sofia’s call came at a very inopportune moment. Victoria had just washed the scarf, which wasn’t going to stay peach-colored for much longer, prepared the dyes and the brush purchased at Cockermouth Art & Craft and decided to watch the YouTube tutorial one last time.

Her aunt didn’t get into details. Sounding very distraught, she asked her to come and bring _William —_ when they had the time but the sooner the better. With a sigh, Victoria put away the dying kit, brushed her hair in front of the mirror, touched the eyelashes with a bit of mascara, applied almost invisible rose pink lip balm, adjusted the silver crown-shaped pendant between her collarbones, put her phone in the pocket of her shorts and went outside, heading for the greenhouse, where Alfie and his team were efficiently laying the new floor. She found Professor Lamb behind the gate engaged in a heated discussion of the upcoming Parliamentary election with Eddie the driver, who had turned out to be Alfie’s husband.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your undoubtedly fascinating conversation,” she said. “Professor, Sofia wants to see us.”

“Us?” he asked worriedly. “Both of us? Together? Has something happened?”

Victoria shrugged.

“Both of us. Together. I’m not sure.”

In Sofia’s garden, they found a dozen of sulking teenagers of varying age who sat at the long table under the old plum tree, showing a complete lack of regard for the newcomers.

“What do you think about these thirteen reasons why?” the professor whispered, leaning to her ear. She flinched and shifted from foot to foot, willing the hot goosebumps to leave her alone.

She gave him a dirty look.

“Does it ever occur to you to think before you speak?”

“There are exactly thirteen of them, I have counted.”

“Professor, it’s a TV show about teenage suicide.”

The professor paled slightly and cleared his throat in embarrassment.

“I didn’t think you watched TV shows.”

“I don’t. I just happen to know what this particular one is about, and when I don’t know, I don’t demonstrate my sparkling sense of humor,” she hissed fiercely somewhere into the side of his neck.

“Fair enough. Reasonable too.” He swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on her lips. “I just wished you didn’t demonstrate your sparkling fists when you don’t know something. My back still hurts.”

“I apologized, didn’t I?!”

 _Thank you, auntie_ , Victoria thought when Sofia finally appeared to take the professor by the elbow and seat him at the table. She shifted from foot to foot again, still feeling the goosebumps. _Bless your penchant for inopportune interruptions._

The teenagers were students of the only comprehensive school in town, where Sofia taught English and literature and ran drama and art clubs. Professor Lamb frowned when he heard her request. She asked for his assistance in filing a class action suit against the town council, who had cut the school financing.

“Sofia, I think you watch too many American legal dramas.”

“These are talented children, they need self-expression,” Aunt Sofia said in a trembling voice. “William, please, at least point us in the right direction.”

“This is not even my area of expertise,” the professor sighed, rumpling his hair with a broad hand. “And it’s been too long since I practiced. I don’t know, the parents could file complaints to the Department of Education, or say, picket the town council. Lawsuit is hardly the answer.”

The “talented children” soon dispersed, exchanging looks and disappointed whispers. Only three of them stayed: two boys and a girl, probably friends.

“My grandfather doesn’t even know I’m in the drama club,” the boy in a red T-shirt and with a silver stud in his left ear said, brushing a strand of hair away from his eyes and casually swiping on the screen of his phone.

“Or that he had his ear pierced,” the comely moon-faced girl echoed.

The boy with very short hair and very serious cornflower blue eyes, who looked a little older than his friends, huffed and folded his arms.

“Archibald Brodie, when my mother complained to your grandfather, he said that _these loafers_ could transfer to Cockermouth if they don’t give a fig about their future.”

The boy in the red shirt snorted.

“Well, good for you, no need to come up with excuses to go there. Remind me, what did you buy at Drumfred last time? A glass-cutter?”

“And an electric drill!” the girl giggled. “Hardware-wise, our Robert has the full package, he’s marriage material now. Pity that Eddie is already taken.”

“What does it have to do with Edward?” the serious boy Robert said, blushing furiously. “You drag me there and then you whine you didn’t get to see Alfred!”

“Shit,” Archie laughed, “what a soap opera. Mina, if it’s any consolation, had you lot been born in the old times, Alfie would have definitely married you. Unfortunately, I have nothing to console Robert with.”

“Hold on, stop babbling for a moment,” the professor frowned again. “Who is Archie’s grandfather?”

“The chairman of the town council,” Robert explained.

“Sofia,” said Victoria, who had been quiet until now. “I am ready to take on the art club. My studio is almost finished. I will provide the supplies and I can teach too.”

“Now, hang on there a minute!” the professor exclaimed. “Victoria, if you go on like this, your savings won’t last a year. I do respect your selflessness but this is wrong. We need a different approach. Have you even seen the town council? It’s the swankiest building in all of Melvic. Italian marble, bronze statues... And I didn’t even go inside. When was it built?”

“They opened it in April,” Sofia answered. “Before that, they renovated the fountain in the square, although it was put up two years ago.”

“And before that, wooden figures of animals, also in the square,” Mina said. “And they repair the bridge every year for some reason.”

“So, there is a budget for unnecessary expenses, whereas the future generations run wild.” The professor squinted at Archie. “Young man, why won’t you exert an influence on your grandfather?”

“I would like to die healthy and not a cripple,” the boy said gruffly.

Victoria listened to them, feeling the thumping of blood in her ears grow louder until she could no longer make out the words. What had been the point of running away if nothing had changed? No, she wouldn’t step aside this time.

“Archie,” she said very calmly. “I think you should introduce me to your grandfather.”

***

“What are you up to?” the professor asked in a voice tinged with worry, trying to keep up with her.

Archie marched ahead of them, taking the stud out of his ear as he walked. His friends had decided to stay at Sofia’s, firmly refusing to come along. “Sissies!” he yelled goodbye too cheerily. “Remember me in the prime of life!”

“Nothing,” she shrugged. “I’ll improvise.”

The three-story building of the town council looked impressive, encased in white Carrara marble with thin intricate gray veins, marble banisters, proud gilded letters _MELVIC TOWN COUNCIL_ across the façade, and the bronze group glinting in the July sun: the bull, the ram and the dragon from the Cumbrian coat of arms, with the motto “Ad montes oculos levavi” — “I shall lift up mine eyes unto the hills” carved in marble.

“You know what,” said Archie, pausing on the black marble steps and turning to Victoria and the professor climbing behind him. “Now you go ahead, up to the third floor, second door to the right, and I... I go home."

“Archie,” the professor stood on the step beside him and solemnly put a hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Brodie. I understand and respect your self-preservation instinct but every boy must become a man at some point.”

“I’m not putting the stud back in!”

“All in good time,” the professor nodded. “Lay on, Macduff!”

“Hey, I know this one, it’s from _Macbeth_!” Archie said proudly. “We staged it last year. I _was_ Macduff! Do you have any idea how long girls and a few boys kept hitting on me after that?”

“Excellent! You can tell this to your grandfather when he asks what good your clubs are.”

The chairman’s office on the third floor was empty. Seething more and more with every passing minute, Victoria looked at the oak paneled walls, the tasteless still life paintings and reproductions of world’s masterpieces in extravagant gilded frames, the mahogany desk. The professor wrinkled his forehead, reading the announcement poster next to Churchill’s portrait on the wall. Archie perched himself on a Chippendale chair by the window and became very quiet, holding up his smartphone like a shield.

“Who are you, what do you want?” a grumpy voice squeaked from the door, making Victoria jerk her hand away from the silver candlestick on the marble windowsill.

A short scrawny gray-haired man with old-fashioned sideburns and a week-old stubble on his cheeks stood in the doorway. The black beads of his narrowed eyes darted warily from Victoria to the professor and back.

Victoria stepped forward.

“Are you the chairman of the town council?”

“And what if I am?” the man walked around her to sit down at the desk. “What’s your business?”

“My name is Victoria Hanover, 15 Cocker Street,” she said. “I am a granddaughter of the late Charlotte Hanover, niece of Sofia Hanover.”

The man sniffed, ignoring her outstretched hand.

“I could say pleasure to meet you but I don’t want to lie. Granddaughter and niece. So what?”  


Victoria withdrew her hand, pursed her lips and sat in the chair opposite him without waiting for the invitation.

“Aunt Sofia told me that the town council was refusing to finance extracurricular activities at Melvic comprehensive.”

“That’s right. They can go to Cockermouth if they want extracurricular. Buses run every hour.”

Victoria took a deep breath.

“Say, this boy, he’s your grandson, isn’t he?”  
  


Only then did the man notice Archie who was trying to pretend to blend into the wall.

“Grandson,” he grumbled. “What are you doing here, brat?”

“Just came to visit my favorite grandpa,” the boy waved, carefully looking past him.

His favorite grandpa frowned.

“Archie goes to Melvic comprehensive. Do you want him to go to Cockermouth as well?”

“Clubs are not studying. Maths and physics are studying. He did mention school theater once but I said no. This is for girls and them poofs.”

Victoria threw her hands up helplessly.

“Are you even aware that men used to be the only actors in theaters?”

“Were they really men though?” the chairman chortled.

“My God, what century are you living in?”

“Listen, young lady, there is no money in the budget, end of story. Do you want me to pay out of my own pocket?”

“But you did find the money for the renovation of the council building, didn’t you?” She was barely holding it together. “And for many other things — I haven’t seen everything myself yet but I have heard a lot.”

“And I have heard a lot about _you_. You come from London, spend what, a month here, and you think you know everything here better than anyone? Big city star, big deal.”

“Big city star?! I was born here, you know!” Victoria yelled in rightful indignation.

“Didn’t exactly grow where you were planted, did you?”

“I don’t have to answer to anyone for that!”

“Well, who’s asking you?” the man waved his hand almost peacefully. “I’m not keeping you here. Please, be on your way. I need to make an inventory. First, candles.”

“Candles?!”

Victoria jumped to her feet, already seeing her hands close around the thin gray stubbled neck, and plopped back down under the big palm pressing on her shoulder.

“Mr. Brodie?” the professor inquired calmly, taking a seat in the chair next to her.

“Penge,” croaked their vis-à-vis, staring at the unexpected reinforcement.

“Mr. Penge. Pleasure, I’m sure,” the professor lowered his voice by an octave. _Is he trying to seduce him or something?_ Victoria thought. “William Lamb.”

Penge blinked suspiciously at his hand but shook it after all.

“Lamb? Are you by any chance related to one Mrs. Palmerston?”  
  


“I am!” the professor said happily. “I am her brother. Emily didn’t tell me she had friends in Melvic.”

“Right!” Penge crossed his arms on his chest, oozing contempt. “Friends my ass. Her guests keep vandalizing our sweet little town, posing the animal figures in obscene poses, skinny dipping in the river… I keep complaining but your sister doesn’t give a damn.”

Victoria had never seen the professor rendered speechless before. To his credit, he recovered fairly quickly.

“Ahem,” he said in his usual scratchy voice. “I think we have wandered off the point. If the town council is incapable of distributing its budget — the citizens’ taxes — properly, you obviously need fresh blood. Take, for example, Miss Hanover. She is a highly experienced economist with a Master’s degree in Business Administration. As a Melvic native — and a resident of the town — she is eligible to run for the town council. And to be its chairperson if she is elected.”

This time Penge was the one to lose composure.

“Native?! Resident?! Right?!” he bellowed, splotches of scarlet crawling up his neck, while Victoria tugged on the professor’s sleeve, hissing, _What the hell do you think you’re doing again?_ “She’s been here for a few days! What does she know! Who knows her!”

Archie, who had been keeping himself to his smartphone, darted to his grandfather.

“Gramps, come on gramps, calm down, you can’t get too excited… or did you forget?”

“I did. Forget.” Penge was suddenly subdued. He fell back into his hair, pressing two fingers to his left wrist. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened his eyes again, giving Victoria a contemptuous look. “You people think you can just waltz in here. Do you even know how Melvic got its name?”

Victoria scowled at him.

Still holding his grandfather by the shoulders, Archie laughed.

“Nobody does. You don’t know either.”

Penge shrugged, throwing off the boy’s hands.

“You keep talking like this, brat,” he said gruffly but good-naturedly. “Well, the year was eighteen… let me see… eighteen forty-two—”

“I have to say, you look young for your age,” the professor smirked.

“Are you going to listen or are you going to make clever little jokes?”

The professor mimed putting an imaginary padlock on his lips and winced as it earned him a jab of Victoria’s sharp elbow in the ribs and a disdainful hiss, “ _Clown!_ ”

“So, the year was eighteen forty-two and the royal court was returning to the capital from Scotland—”

“Queen Victoria visited Melvic?!” Victoria said incredulously. She had simmered down, to her own surprise.

Penge made a move, pretending he was trying to get up.

“I’ll be quiet.”

“Not the Queen herself, of course. A handful of courtiers strayed from the royal party—”

“A handful of courtiers bored to death by the prince consort,” the professor muttered under his noise. Penge snapped his eyes at him but continued.

“—and went through Cockermouth and then reached us. Melvic was only a small village of twenty households back then, just a nameless outskirt of Cockermouth. What entertainment could the big city dandies find here? None, right?”

You shouldn’t believe when someone tells you that people used to be different, better, grander in the old days. People are equally beautiful and disgusting throughout history. At least, according to the legend Penge told them. Evidently, boredom was as much of a driving force to the young courtiers of the nineteenth century as to the young tourists of the twenty-first century. On an August night of 1842, citizens of the future town of Melvic, who kept early hours, couldn’t sleep until dawn, listening to dirty couplets that featured, in various degrees of salacity, various state figures, including the Queen. People kept finding the mysterious inscription “Mel + Vic” in most unexpected places for a long time after the royal court moved further south.

“Unexpected?” Victoria giggled.

“Mysterious?” the professor smirked.

“On benches, carts, even on the mile stone,” Penge nodded enthusiastically. “Vandals. Anyway, that’s how it took on. But no one knows what it means.”

Victoria frowned at another smirk playing on the professor’s lips. He gingerly shifted, moving away from her elbow, and mouthed, “Later”.

“Thank you for the captivating story, Mr. Penge, it was very… informative,” he said out loud. “But it changes nothing. The election is,” he squinted at the poster behind Penge’s back, “in two months. Consider this a preliminary notice. Miss Hanover begins collecting votes to run for the town council as an independent candidate.”

Without waiting for Penge to shoot up in another fit of righteous indignation, he rose quickly and pulled Victoria, who was already up on her feet, to follow him outside.


	6. Chapter 6

“Well?” Curiosity finally got better of her. They had already moved about three hundred meters from the marble colossus of the town council building but the professor still kept quiet.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“ _Mel + Vic_?”

“Oh, that.” The professor smirked, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Think about it.”

“If you don’t want to tell me or if you don’t know—”

“Victoria, I am a university professor.”

“No!” she gasped mockingly. “No way! Why didn’t you say so? Right, I’m going home.”

“Trust me,” he said patiently, catching her elbow to keep her from turning back, “I can see when a student knows the answer to their question but is too lazy to give it some thought. Somehow, I think no money was spared for your education and you at least know that Queen Victoria ruled this country in 1842. Remind me, what was Queen Victoria’s name?”

“Very funny.” She shrugged her shoulders. The professor didn’t resist.

“Right. And what was her prime minister’s name?”

“I don’t remember. She had so many of those.”

“The very first one.”

Victoria wrinkled her forehead.

“Melbourne?”

“It wasn’t a waste of family money after all!”

“Yeah right. There was a TV show a couple of years ago. I haven’t seen it myself, like, I have better things to do, but the girls at the office drooled and sighed _for months._ Melbourne this, Melbourne that… I don’t think I ever witness this kind of surge of interest in British history before.”

“This is why we should appreciate low forms of art. Well, what can you say now?”

“That you’re a snob?”

“I mean about _Mel + Vic_.”

“Nonsense,” Victoria snorted. “That’s impossible. Wasn’t he, like, old enough to be her grandfather in real life?”  
  


The professor shrugged

“When did it ever stop gossip and rumors? Or love, for that matter.”

Was it just her imagination or was there really a ghost of a sigh in the last sentence? She sneaked a look at him. His face was calm but somewhat sad and thoughtful, and her heart grew heavy, sinking to the stomach, hanging by the ropes of blood vessels. Was he still— oh no, _don’t go there._ She shook her head and spoke sardonically.

“I bet this so-called legend was born out of that TV show. What other entertainment do people even have here except watching TV…”

“Well, once you’re elected to the town council,” he smiled, “you can bring real culture to Melvic.”

Victoria scoffed.

“Alright, you’ve had your fun, now help me. I need ideas. What do I do with Penge? Blackmail? Bribery? I guess bribery works best with people like him.”

“Your grandfather would be _so_ proud of you,” the professor nodded. “I wish I could say the same about your grandmother.”

Victoria stopped dead in her tracks and looked up at him. William Lamb’s eyes stared back at her with absolute earnestness but there was such warmth and confidence glowing deep inside that she smiled despite herself.

“You’re right about that.”  
  


The professor still wasn’t saying anything.

“Well, what do I do now? How does one go about… collecting signatures?”  
  


***

Collecting ten signatures of registered resident voters was a piece of cake. People of Melvic knew and respected Charlotte and Sofia, and many remembered Victoria, who hadn’t visited for a few years, since she started rising in the family business, as an adorable little girl with chubby cheeks and then as a sulking but polite and helpful teenager. Now the locals were getting to know her as this confident young woman, who chose taking care of their tiny town over a successful career in the big city and was willing to work like one of them, ready to lend her soft hands.

“We are going to make you prime minister someday, you’ll see,” the professor chuckled, walking back home with her from the election committee. “I shudder to think that Margaret Thatcher and Theresa May could remain the only female prime ministers in the history of Great Britain. How are your public speaking skills?”

She would remember the following few weeks as one of the busiest and happiest periods in her life. She walked across the entire town, asking the citizens about their needs, listening patiently and attentively to each of them and promising to do her best for the prosperity of Melvic, participating in various town events and slowly falling in love with her new old home. The professor, when he wasn’t away on business in London, was always by her side, and if an angry or suspicious shout from the crowd unsettled her for a moment, she only needed to meet his eyes to regain faith in herself.

Penge, whose term of office was coming to an end and who was very alarmed by the competition, kept putting spokes in her wheel. However, all his awkward attempts at sabotage were shattered when Victoria found an unexpected patron saint and supporter in the school geography teacher. Louise Lehzen was born in Melvic and never left it but wasn’t exactly popular among the townsfolk. They thought that the spinster was arrogant and cantankerous and called her “Baroness” behind her back — all except Penge. Penge threw the sobriquet right in her face, and their confrontations at town meetings were legendary. Curiously, after a town meeting, they would sit at the same table in the café, finish a bottle of brandy and go each their own way, never having said a word to each other — at least until Penge had a mild stroke. Louise visited her frenemy at the hospital and afterwards watched carefully what he ate or drank whenever he was in her field of vision. Penge responded by taking away her cigarettes whenever he saw her light up and heavy grocery bags. None of that reduced the intensity of their bickering.

Rumor had it that they had a falling out when both were very young. Nobody knew exactly whether it was Penge who had scorned the Baroness to marry the now late Mrs. Penge, or she had rejected him as an unsuitable husband material. Be as it may, the flame of their controversial relationship sustained by mutual insults, silent drinking companionship and grudging but persistent care was as high and hot as years before. People agreed that it could only end in marriage or murder. The two knew each other better than anyone, and Victoria, bathing in the sea of Louise’s unspent motherly affection, gleaned a lot of useful information from the new source. Aware that she was inadvertently facilitating another turn of the old love-hate spiral, she firmly decided that she would only use this information for self-defense.

Aunt Sofia’s “pets” were a great help as well. They were personally invested in her success. They were also encouraged by the professor’s seemingly offhand remark that grades were not the only thing university admission offices looked at.

The first election speech did not come easy to her. The professor, unable to watch her suffer, offered to help but Victoria smiled and shook her head. She needed to do this on her own.

On the last day of July, Victoria came home from the town agricultural show, where she had opened the best beard contest, then participated in the fell race, and dropped, exhausted, on the sofa in the living room. She had been lying there limp and drowsy for some time when she sensed a presence in the room. She tensed up, shutting her eyelids tighter — the professor had gone off to London bright and early and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning.

“I can see you’re faking, you know” said the familiar wry scratchy voice. Victoria sat up with a jerk to meet William Lamb’s eyes. He was wearing a perfectly fitting three-piece charcoal gray suit, a white shirt and a pair of black Oxfords.

“Do you even remember where you live?” she said hoarsely, willing herself to look away from the tall graceful figure. “You could at least knock.”

The professor didn’t bat an eye.

“I have missed you too. What are we having for lunch?”

Victoria tapped the screen of her phone, sighed and put her feet down on the floor, determined not to take the bait.

“It’s after five, so we having dinner for lunch. Which you’re making. And I am going to take a shower.”

Her hand habitually reached for the pendant but found only the dip between the collarbones. Victoria frowned, confused. She thought a little, then turned her head, looking around the floor. She got down on all four, checked under the coffee table. The pendant was nowhere to be seen — and so was the chain she had been wearing it on. The professor watched her from the doorway, intrigued.

“What are you looking for? Need any help?”

Victoria absentmindedly touched her throat again.

“Do you remember my necklace? The silver one?”

“Your majesty, you should have told me right away that you’ve lost you crown!” The professor was crouched next to her before she knew it, examining the carpet like a hawk. “Where did you see it last?”

“I clearly remember still having it on after the race…” Victoria wrinkled her forehead, retracing her route in her head. “I stopped on the bridge to put my hair up. I think it might have snagged then.” She sighed again. “Damn it.”

“Was it very expensive? Or a gift? Something of sentimental value?”

“I wouldn’t say _very_ expensive. Not a gift either. I bought it for myself. Remember the day John came here?”

The professor nodded, staring past her.

“Well, I bought it next day strolling around Cockermouth. I saw it on display and I remembered you saying, ‘Be a queen’, and I thought, well, why the hell not? So I bought it, to pamper my pride and vanity, I guess. How silly of me. Some queen. So it’s only fair, know your place and all that,” she laughed but the laughter died on her lips when she noticed his expression: a hard stare, jaws clenched so tightly, it felt like his teeth might start to crumble. “Professor, what’s wrong?”

Without saying a word, the professor got up from the floor and headed out of the room.

“William!”

He paused by the front door and turned to look at her. His eyes that were so warm and gentle only a minute earlier were like two lightning bolts, and his lips pressed into a thin, almost invisible line.

“I am going to the bridge, _ma’am_ ,” he said slowly, enunciating every word, as if trying not to betray the suppressed rage or pain. “And when I am back with your crown, you will promise — no, you will swear to me that you will never speak of yourself in such self-deprecating manner.”

Victoria followed him outside in dazed bewilderment. A drop fell on her cheek, then another, waking her up. She darted after him but the rain gushed in full force, drumming on the windowpanes, pounding on the top of her head, lashing her bare calves, and she had to retreat under the canopy, helplessly clutching at her head.

An hour later, having set the table in the living room, she walked to the window. The sky was darkening and sliding lower and lower, filling with heavy moisture. She sat on the sofa, her head in her hands, feeling as dark and heavy as it was outside: something was pressing on her ribcage from the inside, pushing it apart. She wanted to cry and even more than that, she wanted the professor to come back, to never look at her like he had before leaving, she wanted him to never leave again, to—

“ _Ma’am_.”

Victoria sprang to her feet. He stood by the door, soaked through, one hand on the doorframe, the other clutching his crumpled charcoal gray suit jacket, rivulets of rain water running down his face from his hair. She ran to the bathroom, came back with a towel and held it out to him. The professor dropped the jacket but made no attempt to take the towel, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. Then she stepped closer, stood on tiptoe, reaching for his hair, but managed to hit his ear with her elbow. He gently drew the elbow away and got down on his knees, stooping his head, as though bowing. She rubbed and ruffled the dark curls, barely resisting the urge to bury her face in them and almost crying, and then, avoiding his gaze, she knelt down too, blotting his face and his neck with the towel, ran it over his shoulders. He caught her hand, squeezed it lightly and let go. When she opened her fist, there it was in the center of her palm — her crown, glistening dully in the dim light of the living room.

“May I?”

She nodded, barely aware of what exactly she was agreeing to but knowing that yes, _yes, he may_. And she closed her eyes, feeling the coolness of the silver on her chest and the warmth of his fingers on her neck, her heart spluttering, fluttering, breathing in his smell — she had never realized that he had a smell of his own, that she knew his smell — she would never be able to describe it but she would recognize it anywhere, instantly. She knew _him_. She wouldn’t doubt anymore, and she wouldn’t look back at the past, his or hers, she would just open her eyes and—

“Victoria.” He said it in this weird, awkward voice. Looking at her with these dark, almost brown eyes from under furrowed brows. This voice, this look meant, “We need to talk.” And then: “We are too different, you and I.” And then: “I can’t do this anymore.”

She recoiled and nearly fell backwards but recovered and scrambled to her feet. The wet towel dropped on the floor, forming a small furry mound.

“You— you should dry yourself and have some dinner,” she said, almost not stuttering at all but avoiding his eyes. Even if she blushed, the dim light probably disguised it, although her heart was burning with shame and disappointment. “I’ll be in the studio until late night. See you tomorrow.”

“Victoria.”

“That is, if you want. Of course,” she added hastily, already at the doorstep, about to dive into the pouring rain and hoping it would cool her down. “I have a meeting with the students’ parents the day after tomorrow, I thought you could help me prepare.”


	7. Chapter 7

Naturally, he didn’t show up for breakfast. She had no appetite either.

She wasn’t at all surprised to find the garage empty. She just shrugged, heaved a sigh and walked back to the house, and something just pinched her heart a little.

The annex door was open. He never locked it now. After a minute’s hesitation, Victoria climbed the steps of the porch and entered. She hadn’t stepped inside in the professor’s absence before. She stroked the lid of his laptop, frowned at the haphazardly made single bed, winced as she picked up the withered apple core with the tips of her fingers — it wasn’t like William Lamb to be this sloppy. She had mentioned once that he didn’t have to do the dishes right after a meal and the professor glared at her, letting her know without words that it was a matter of principle.

A black notebook was lying on the crumpled bed cover — the very same notebook, in which the professor was always scribbling something with a serious face — and Victoria couldn’t resist taking a peek. She opened it at a random page and peered in confusion at… she couldn’t tell what exactly. There were elaborate drawings of strange flowers and mindless doodles and geometric shapes. Was that a Dalek? And that one—

“Breaking and entering.”

Victoria spun around, for some reason hiding the hand with the notebook behind her back. The professor stood in the bright morning sunlight, squinting wearily but calmly. He had changed into a fresh gray shirt and jeans.

“There was no breaking in, you didn’t lock the door!”

“But you’re not denying the entering part,” he chuckled, coming closer. “What do you have there?”  
  


“Nothing,” she blurted out too readily.

The professor arched an eyebrow, still slowly moving towards her, like a beast of prey about to jump. Just as slowly, she backed away, one step, another, ready to flee any moment — and yelped as she collided with the bookcase and hissed in pain. He was by her side in a heartbeat.

“Are you hurt?”

She rubbed her elbow, forgetting for a second about the notebook still clutched in her hand. The professor reached to grab his property but Victoria jerked her hand away and turned her back on him, laughing and flipping the pages.

“I thought you were translating St. John Chrysostom!”

“You will find that I have many facets to my personality,” he retorted. “Come on, give it back.”

“Facets like arrogant jerk, stubborn bastard and cocky bra—” Suddenly, she found herself in the coil of strong arms — and all air went out of her lungs as she felt through the thin fabric of her shirt the heat of the broad chest pressed to her back, and as she was trying to calm her faltering pulse, she didn’t notice long fingers catch her unresisting hands and prise her loot out of them. Something fell on the floor with a quiet thud. In a dreamlike haze, Victoria looked down to see the black notebook at her feet. In a dreamlike haze, she felt her mind relinquishing control over her body and her body stop listening, obedient only to the call of his body, and every cell of skin touching his skill was soaking in his proximity with blissful rapture, and her fingers intertwined with his fingers, and her neck bent weakly, dropping her head on his chest, and her pupils became two black pools, pushing the irises to the edges, and caught the dark, hungry, pleading gaze, and her eyelids fluttered and closed, scorched by the hot ragged breath, and her trembling lips opened, welcoming his impatient lips.

***

The kiss lingers; he kisses her with delirious desperation of a traveler who has roamed the desert for days without a drop of water, he kisses her as if she were a spring, and he drinks and drinks and drinks her — so great, so unquenchable is his thirst, so unbearable his fear that the oasis will fade like a mirage, that one more second and he will choke on the dry, stinging grains of sand.

When, in an enormous act of will, he finally pulls away from her, gasping for air, and tries to say her name, it’s her turn to claim his gaping mouth with her bruised lips — _no, no, don’t let him ruin it, don’t let him go, make him forget everything he was going to say, make him forget how to make sounds into words, hold on to him_ until her hands open the last button on his shirt, until, dizzy and helpless and tame, he drops on his knees before her, dying to revere her and offer sacrifices, to worship every inch of her, from the soles of her feet to the tips of her hair. Trembling under his lips, writhing under his scolding fingers, melting under his tongue, she suddenly realizes that he will do anything she wants him to, one silent gesture of hers — and he will be a rug under her feet or wings beneath her arms, he will shield her from the scorching sun with his shadow or burn to ashes to make her warm — and the revelation of her own power and his strength is like a jolt of electric shock. Her legs wobble but he catches her, he won’t let her fall, because he is always there for her when she needs him, from the first moment they met, she just never really saw it before…

The narrow bed gasps and groans, echoing them.

***

And then she bathed in the relaxing, safe haven of his arms, drawing patterns with a languid finger on his stomach, giggling if he flinched, growled like a bear and slapped her hand.

“Do you want to go to Cockermouth with me?” he murmured sleepily and yawned. “Not right now, of course, bit later.”

Curious, she lifted her head from his shoulder, peeking into the slits of his drowsy eyes.

“Why?”

“I should introduce you to my sister.” He pulled her tighter to his warm side. “She thinks I have been bewitched because only dark magic could keep me in the middle of nowhere.”

***

William parked the car, and Victoria cursed to herself when she looked out of the window and read the sign on the house.

The Rook Guesthouse[1] was nestled in the center of Cockermouth. The townhouse built, according to the plate, in 1770 had changed many owners since the eighteenth century but for the last fourteen years it belonged to Emily Palmerston, nee Lamb.

In spite of the gloomy pictures painted by her imagination rattled by William’s flippant remark, they were greeted by a friendly dark-haired woman with bright intelligent brown eyes, who bore a subtle resemblance to him and didn’t look anything like him at the same time. Emily didn’t hug her to death but she smiled warmly, shook Victoria’s hand with both hands and drew her into the house. She brushed her brother off: “Henry is mucking about with the car in the garage, go be with him for a while, give us girls some time alone!”

Victoria looked around hesitantly as she sat in the small living room that was full of light and antique furniture. Exposed beams and stonework, a period fireplace.

“I haven’t changed anything for a reason. It’s the authentic vibe that draws people to this place,” Emily explained, putting the tray on the table. “This is our daughter, Franny,” she said when she noticed Victoria look at the photos on the mantelpiece. “She goes to uni in London. And these are the Lambs: our parents, William, I and our younger brother Fred — he’s a spitting image of Will in this photo, isn’t he? Freddie lives in Vienna now, he works at our embassy.”

William in the photo was about twelve or thirteen. He had a mop of curly hair and his face still had baby fat. Squinting at the camera, one arm wrapped around a younger girl sticking her tongue, the other around a pouting toddler, who did resemble him a lot — that was so William, ready to protect the people he loved from the whole world.

When she said that to Emily, the woman smiled and something changed in her eyes, as if she was seeing Victoria in a new light. They got to talking as they drank their tea. Emily already knew a lot about her grandmother from William — Victoria blushed as she realized how close the siblings really were — but the election campaign was news to her.

“You must talk to Henry! It’s practically how he started, he definitely can give you a few good pointers.”

Emily had left her native Derbyshire after divorcing her first husband. She bought a house in Cockermouth and moved in with her five-year-old daughter. When money became an issue, Emily didn’t ask her parents or brothers for help, turning her house into a nice bed & breakfast instead — the very same bed & breakfast, whose guests annoyed the hell out of Mr. Penge. That was where new love found her — or rather, old love: Henry Palmerston, her older brother’s university mate and the biological father of her daughter came from London on his law firm’s business. The unexpected reunion was tempestuous — in no small measure because William almost killed his best friend and was seriously upset with his sister when he found out the true lineage of his beloved niece. He only tempered justice with mercy after Henry had given up his cushy job at a respectable London firm and fat paychecks to move to Cockermouth to join “his girls”. William of all people knew what sacrifices one could make for the sake of one’s family. Hyperactive and pragmatic, Henry didn’t sit idle long: he was charismatic enough, not devoid of a certain physical appeal and charm, and an excellent judge of character. The town fell to his feet in no time and he was currently serving his second term as the mayor of Cockermouth. His income might never reach the old heights but his ambitions were satisfied and, more importantly, his girls were with him.

Victoria listened to Emily with her mouth agape: when had her life turned into a TV show?

“Victoria, I’m sorry if my question come out as tactless…”

She smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t think you could beat William at that.”

Emily laughed.

“See, that’s exactly what my question was about. I understand what he sees in you. But you, a young, beautiful, intelligent woman, you must have suitors coming out of your ears! How did you manage to get yourself mixed up with my brother, especially given his history with your grandmother?”

“I had a feeling!” an indignant voice exclaimed from the door. “Was I right or was I right?” William turned to his brother-in-law who followed him inside.

“You were right, my friend!” thundered the mayor of Cockermouth, menacingly raising his hands and moving towards Emily. “My dearest wife, mother of my daughter, I am asking you nicely, please don’t rob my best friend of his last hope for a proper love life. It won’t be an easy choice but I am going to make it, I shall sacrifice myself for William’s happiness and live the rest of my days with a Cinderella!”

Emily squealed, dodging his grease-stained fingers and hiding behind her brother.

“Miss Hanover. Victoria.” The lanky figure folded in a ceremonious bow, holding his hands away from his body. “If I may have your hand — only bear in mind that I can’t at the moment fully demonstrate my impeccable manners without your kind assistance. May your hand be firm.”

Laughing at the top of her voice, Victoria held out her hand and kept it elevated while Henry was pressing a chaste kiss to it. He straightened and gave his wife an exaggeratedly austere look.

“I surrender. I surrender!” she exclaimed. “Victoria, please, just tell me you are quite sure and you won’t regret it.”

“Emily—” William began in a warning tone.

“I am quite sure,” she interrupted and smiled, looking him straight in the eye. “I won’t regret it.”

He looked back at her with an intensity that took her breath away. For a moment, she forgot that they were not alone in the room but Henry’s delicate cough brought her back.

“You know, you should tell me,” she turned to Emily, her cheeks a little pink, “what he was like when he was little.”

“Why?” William groaned. “What did I ever do to you?”

“A regular nerd!”

“Shush!” Emily reigned her husband in. “You didn’t know him when he was little. Well, actually, he hasn’t changed that much. He was a quiet boy, loved reading, loved his mom,” she couldn’t help but burst out laughing as she saw the protagonist of her story grimace, “but even then, no one could win an argument against him or make him do something he didn’t want to do. Even our mom. Oh, and all the girls at school had a crush on him, even older girls! And our Will just outright ignored them and buried his nose in books. Boys do mature late.” Emily tugged her brother’s sleeve and teased, “By the way, how is Emma Lascelles doing? Is she still harboring futile hopes?”

“Mrs. Portman, her husband and all four of their children,” William said through his teeth, glancing cautiously at Victoria, “send their regards and best wishes to you both.”

“Well, I for one am glad she didn’t wait for you,” Emily giggled. “Alright, dear guests and you, Mr. Mayor, go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready!”

William suddenly furrowed his brow, pulling a buzzing phone out of his pocket, and laughed.

“Speak of the devil! Yes, hello?” He stepped outside but returned almost immediately. “Dear lady of the house and you, Mr. Mayor, my most sincere apologies. Dinner will have to wait. Raincheck? Victoria, I have to go to the university. The admission office has some urgent business.”

[1] i shit you not, i might have made up the good ol’ town of Melvic but this one is as real as they come: <https://www.therookguesthouse.co.uk>

i just said, “okay google rook Lake District”. i just wanted to know if there were rooks in Lake District.


	8. Chapter 8

He came back to Melvic in the afternoon of the next day, tired but content — he didn’t share the details but said that everything had been resolved and sat on the porch next to Victoria, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She relaxed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, feeling the anxious impatience of waiting seep out of her.

“You do realize it was just a silly joke? About Emma?”

Victoria nodded silently. Even if it wasn’t a joke, everything that had happened until last morning now seemed very distant and insignificant.

“When I heard of Charlotte’s death…” he sighed, his fingers reflexively squeezing her shoulder. “I know it will sound odd… but I was relieved.”

Victoria slowly lifted her head and stared at the chiseled profile, noticing the furrowed eyebrows, pursed lips, the twitch of the Adam’s apple… She pulled away a little, trying to look into his eyes. He met her searching gaze guiltily.

“And… and I was surprised at my reaction — shocked, really: it wasn’t even relief, it was… joy. I had grown so tired of unrequited love, more than I realized. I’m not at all sure it was just Charlotte. It just felt like everything that had happened to me had blended together, merged into a gigantic growing, rolling snow ball and that I had been running from it my whole life, trying not to get squashed by it. I was glad — I was disgusted with myself but I was glad. She was the last one. The snow ball had melted and I could finally stop and catch a breath and never step into that winter wonderland again, because it's only beautiful on the outside.” He dropped his head. “I didn’t have to be in love anymore. I would never fall in love again, because love is too... exhausting, and I had no strength or passion left. I was free, finally and forever. That's how I felt. I came here to bury Charlotte’s memory, and with it, memory of all my losses, and just slowly fade away. And then I met you… and I fell in love.”

The ache in her heart was so sweet, filling it with such a sharp feeling of happiness that Victoria shut her eyelids tight, as if trying to hold it all in, to keep it from gushing out. But happiness wouldn’t be contained, it demanded an outlet, an exit, and she sighed and opened her eyes and… her heart skipped a beat.

Crunching gravel with expensive sneakers that looked so out of place on his feet, coming closer and closer to the house, Albert walked through the garden.

She could still hear William’s voice, only now it sounded as if it was coming from deep under water.

“…And I thought it would be unrequited again. And even if it wasn’t, well, surely it would be too shameless, too irresponsible of me, with my history, with my age… with you having your whole life ahead of you. I was steeling myself for the inevitable heartbreak but I couldn’t force myself to leave — where would I even go and what would be the point if I couldn’t escape myself? At least, this way I could see you every day and be useful to you. At least, for a while. I didn’t know what I would do when summer ended and work called me back to London — I didn’t want to think about it. How would I even drive along the Victoria Embankment every day? All I knew is I wanted to be here, right beside you. For as long as you would have me. And now—”

William smiled and looked up and stopped when he saw the direction of her look. He turned his head.

“Victoria.”

She jumped off the porch. William’s hand slid down her back and fell limply.

Albert was not himself — his gray blue eyes glowed with maniacal frenzy, he was breathing heavily and clearly didn’t know what to do with his hands, ruffling his hair, fiddling with the button on the cuff of his shirt. He saw William and panicked, confused and lost, not sure what operation should be applied to the unforeseen unknown variable.

“What are you doing here?” Victoria finally said.

“I have come to be with you. To stay, if you want. I… we broke up. I couldn’t have been more wrong about her, Victoria, I thought… and she is… she’s a monster. She lied to me, she said she was pregnant! I mean, it wasn’t all lies, she really is pregnant, just not with _my_ baby… some… I told her about my parents, I opened up to her, and she—”

She listened to his incoherent ramblings of an explanation, feeling rage flaring up like a corrosive acid wave.

“So, I’m just supposed to welcome you back with open arms because you and your girlfriend see monogamy differently?” she said in a trembling voice.

Albert exhaled and took a deep breath again, trying to pull himself together.

“No, no. Wait. Listen to me. Please. This has nothing to do with her, not really… I made a mistake, Victoria. We should have stayed together. So what if we’re different? They do say opposites attract. And look at me — here I am, still attracted. Victoria. I— I can’t live without you.”

Unfair. So unfair. How could he do this to her… how could he be so… so…

“Remember, you used to say I wasn’t impulsive and romantic enough? Victoria, let’s get married. Today, right now — let’s go get married! We’ll get married and make a lot of babies — little Victoria, little Albert and a half dozen more, what do you say?”

Her whole body was shaking now and she felt like crying with pain and confusion. It had all been forgotten and buried… But — it was Albert. Albert, the sullen little boy she kept trying to make laugh to distract him from his gloomy thoughts about his parents’ divorce — another thing they would have in common if it hadn’t been for her father’s death, Albert, the shy stuttering teenager, who gave her her first _grown-up_ flowers, Albert, the earnest young man, who sat next to her at the staff canteen on her first day at Hanover Industries, when other colleagues were giving her table a wide berth…

“Victoria. I love you. I have never loved anyone else. It has always been you. I— I think I was just looking for an easy path, but now I know I can’t escape myself—”

She turned around as if she had been slapped. William was quiet. His face looked dispassionate, carved from stone, only the eyes the color of green moss were drowning in a voiceless scream.

“William, I—”

“Victoria,” Albert said carefully. “Who is he?”

He flinched and held out his hand.

“William Lamb.”

“Albert Coburg,” Albert responded, quickly and firmly shaking his hand — the reflex developed over the years of business meetings was too strong and even the uncertainty of the situation couldn’t rob Albert of his manners. “May I ask who you are exactly?”

William’s smirk was calm, even cynical.

“I’m Victoria’s future husband.”

Albert chortled incredulously.

“ _That_ was funny. Victoria, what’s going on?”

She didn’t answer, unable to squeeze out a word, completely and utterly dazed.

William stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Mr. Coburg, I’m afraid your proposal has come a little too late.”

Albert’s smile faded. He grabbed her hands.

“Victoria, is this true? What is this _senior citizen_ doing here?”

“ _Young man_ , I am asking nicely for now, take your hands off her,” William was almost growling, “before I pull your arms out of their sockets.”

Victoria would remember the rest as a long scene in slow motion, although it probably didn’t last longer than ten seconds. Dumbfounded, she watched William wiping the blood off his split lip and Albert lying still on the ground.

“Albert!” she rushed to his side without thinking, without hesitating, oblivious to the tears rolling down her cheeks, and dropped on her knees. Albert was lying with his eyes closed and didn’t respond to her shaking. Sobbing, she allowed William to gently draw her hands away.

“He has a pulse,” he said curtly and got up, taking his phone out of the pocket. “Yes, hi, we need an ambulance, it’s urgent, a man is unconscious. Head trauma. 15 Cocker Street. Thank you.”

***

He stayed with her until the ambulance came. He didn’t say anything, he just sat on the porch with his back to her, because she was cradling Albert’s head in her lap. Victoria had no energy left to feel or think anything, and her head was dark and hollow.

Albert regained consciousness in the ambulance. He started thrashing, confused about his whereabouts but quieted down once he noticed her. There was no MRI machine at the modest town hospital and since the patient was conscious and not manifesting any life-threatening symptoms, it was decided to take him to Cockermouth.

Luckily, the MRI didn’t show anything suspicious.

“I hope you’re not going to sue?” Victoria asked, sighing with relief.

Albert shrugged in embarrassment, gingerly touching the back of his head.

“I did punch him first. And it wasn’t his fault my foot caught on the rock oh so gracefully. I’m fine, so it’s fine.”

They sat in silence for a while. Victoria wasn’t speaking for one simple reason: she realized she had nothing to say, although she probably would have to at some point. Finally, Albert nervously licked his lips, shifted on the hospital bed and took her hands again.

“I’m not going to ask you about him. I will never ask. It’s not important. Just be with me, I don’t want anything else. Marry me.”

She smiled fondly, gently squeezing his fingers.

“I can’t. And I don’t want to. You know, had you come to me like this a month ago, I think I would have gone mad with joy.”

“Victoria—"

“No. Please, listen to me now and don’t interrupt. Things… things have changed. _I_ have changed. I’m not exactly the Victoria you used to know. I think I will always love you, as a friend, as a brother, as a good memory, but we are going different ways. I’m sorry. I have no doubt that you will still find your person, someone for whom you will want to be impulsive and romantic without prompt, someone who will take care of you, who will always be there for you and who will never demand that you change, who will accept you as you—”

“Mr. Coburg?” A good-looking red-haired woman of about thirty-five, blue scrubs under a white lab coat, entered the room with a knock. Her friendly gray eyes met Albert’s anxious look and her full lips stretched in an easy, soothing smile. “I have just talked to your family doctor, and we both would like you to stay the night for observation, just in case.”

Albert reluctantly lay back on the bed. He clearly wanted to continue the conversation but doing that for the second time that day in the presence of a stranger was too much for him.

“In case I start seeing imaginary friends?” he muttered.

“Mr. Coburg,” the woman said coyly, deftly adjusting the pillow under his head, “in our hospital, friends can’t be imaginary — only complex, with imaginary and real parts.”

Victoria had never seen Albert roar with laughter. Of course, he could smile and even chuckle but somehow the very word “laugh” seemed alien applied to him. God knows what was so funny about this gibberish but Albert was gasping for air for the second time that day and looking at the grinning red-haired doctor with near adoration. Victoria smiled and closed the door behind her. Albert didn’t even notice she never said goodbye.

***

She searched the house and the garden and stopped in front of the locked door of the annex. He was nowhere to be found. Her heart was heavy and uneasy. Aunt Sofia, when she dropped by just in case, said quietly without asking questions, “Don’t worry, darling, he’ll come back, you’ll see.” She decided not to share her concerns with Louise, who disliked William with an intensity of an overprotective mother, to avoid the unavoidable “I told you so”.

Twilight thickened as she sat in the garden, jumping at every flash of light, listening to the sounds of the night, peering hopefully into darkness. But he wouldn’t come, and with each passing hour, despair crawled up to her throat, about to break out in a sob. She suddenly realized she couldn’t even call him — she didn’t know his phone number. Why would she need his phone number if he had always been there? Always. Right there beside her. “You’re my best friend and I love you to bits but you are such an idiot,” Nancy groaned on the other end of the line. “Did you have to rush to Albert’s side like this when your professor was injured too?” “Nancy, he was standing on his own two feet and Albert was unconscious!” “Don’t you yell at me! You made your choice and he did the math.” God, what did she do? How could she do this to him?

Next morning, she crawled out of bed with a splitting headache, showered, injected herself with coffee and gave herself a strict order not to think about William. She had a meeting with the parents of students of Melvic comprehensive in a couple of hours. Love may be many things but not an excuse to let down people who rely on you.

She pulled her hair in a bun, put on her armor: a light makeup, a pants suit and comfortable heels, and jogged under the drizzling rain to the studio which she often used as her office. Once inside, she swiped the right folder off the desk and stopped short as she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. There it was, among the countless stacks of papers and folders carpeting all of her desk. A square wooden slat box with a sheet of paper on top of it.

With a trembling hand, she picked up the sheet covered in sprawling handwriting.

_Victoria. I’m sorry for making things so messy. And I’m sorry I can’t accompany you to the school meeting today. Then again, who knows, perhaps, the prospects of changing the life of a quiet little town don’t seem so enticing to you now… Be as it may, I hope you can find something you like to do, something worthy of your talents._

_Had I known that there was someone else in your heart, I would have never made an attempt to get closer to you. I’m not blaming you — I can be presumptuous at times. Please, do me a favor and forget everything this old fool told you. I will not bother you again._

_I have only one request. Be happy. Please. Live. You have your sunshine and your freedom. Now you have a little flower as well._

_William_

She dropped her hand, still clutching the letter, staring blindly into the box, not seeing the delicate white petals of the orchid through the tears.


	9. Chapter 9

_**[© Lady Disdain](http://ladydisdainblog.tumblr.com/) ** _

The meeting with the students’ parents felt like a dream. Victoria was split in two: one, visible part of her calmly and confidently answered questions, nodded, smiled, shook hands and posed for the camera, while the other, invisible one sat huddled on the floor, swaying and humming.

Sofia was the only one who noticed that something was off and dragged Victoria to her house right after the meeting. Once they were alone, she became one person again and told her aunt everything, sobbing and saying she would never see him again. Sofia let her get it all out before reminding that they actually lived in the twenty-first century and to find someone you only needed Internet access.

The administrative assistant at the Department of Classics of King’s College London obviously took her for one of Professor Lamb’s psycho fangirls (Victoria, who had somewhat calmed down by then, made a mental note to bring up William’s relationship with his students when she found him), because a frosty voice told her that no, he wasn’t in at the moment, no, they couldn’t share staff’s personal information with just anyone but fine, they could take a message and a phone number.

Victoria hung up with a disappointed groan but immediately perked up and slapped her forehead. Fifteen minutes later, she was already halfway to Cockermouth; another twenty, and she stood under the sign with a painted rook on it, kicking the cobblestones in frustration. According to the temporary manager, the owners had left for London to visit Mrs. Palmerston’s mother. Of course, the friendly young man couldn’t give her Mrs. Palmerston’s phone number.

Come what may, she decided, getting back in the car and strapping in. She had no idea yet what she would do in London but she firmly told herself that it was worth it, even if she had to spend hours or even days waiting for him — she only needed to find the right building on the campus. He would show up there sooner or later. The orchid, which she put on the passenger seat to keep her company, nodded all three of its heads.

It probably wasn’t the brightest of her ideas to drive five hours straight after an almost sleepless night. She probably should have waited and put herself in the _compassionate_ hands of the administrative assistant, but while she waited, he… he thought that she hadn’t picked him.

She turned into the Strand to the start of the 7 p.m. news broadcast on Radio 4 and, having reached the King’s College campus site, stepped out of the car, phone with the opened map in her hand, to find herself under an overcast London sky. Interestingly, the sight of the familiar buildings and lights didn’t affect her at all.

A different, albeit nicer, administrative assistant gave her the same answer, “Professor didn’t show up yesterday or today and didn’t say when he would.” Victoria dragged herself back to the car and paused, her hand of the door handle. What now?

“Victoria?”

It seemed as if her guardian angel had finally deigned to wake up and come to her in the form of Emma Portman — how had she managed to forget about the woman after hearing her name literally yesterday? Emma was walking towards her, heels clacking, an elegant plum colored trench coat clinging to her slender frame.

“I did not expect to run into _you_ here.”

Kicking herself mentally once again, Victoria grinned happily.

“Nor I you! But I’m so glad I did. I need your help. Desperately.”

Emma was visibly shocked to hear her stammering account of the past few weeks. Victoria didn’t get into details but, if Emma’s reaction was any indication, it had been a while since her old friend let her in on the news of his personal life, even though he saw her almost every time he came to London. After she gave her William’s phone number and home address, Victoria offered to give her a lift and Emma happily accepted but paused, peering into the open passenger door.

“It seems you’re as fond of gardening as your grandmother was.”

Victoria carefully put the wooden box on the armrest between them but Emma lifted it and settled it in her lap after she got into the car.

“I’m really not. It’s William’s.”

“Well, it’s beautiful,” Emma said apologetically, probably sensing the tension in her voice. “And what is this here?”

Victoria glanced at the box.

“What?”

“These letters. E.L. It must be from Elizabeth’s greenhouse. William’s mother,” Emma explained, examining the flower with curiosity. “Very interesting.”

“What’s interesting?”  
  


“William hasn’t stepped into that greenhouse for years. Actually, he’s been avoiding any flowers like the plague.” Emma’s voice was tinged with sadness. “I thought it was odd that our neat freak had dirt under his fingernails… So, first he decides to retreat to the countryside for the entire summer, then all of a sudden he comes to London nearly every other day…” She looked up and Victoria saw her smile in the rearview mirror. “ _Now_ I understand.”

She dropped Emma off at her house. After a million thanks for the help, a promise to keep in touch and a warm goodbye, Victoria exhaled and resolutely tapped on the call button. However, she was in for another disappointment: the person she was trying to reach was currently unavailable. Oh, she could find a word or two for the person who hadn’t bothered to set up his voicemail. She was entering his home address into her car navigator when the weather forecast started.

The navigator forgotten, Victoria listened to the warning of the storm approaching Cumbria, possible floods and landslides in the Lake District, blocked roads and power outages… Almost howling with frustration, she slammed the heels of her hands on the wheel. She dialed William’s number again only to get the same automated message. That was that, he would have to suffer in his misunderstanding a little longer. She had to go back to Melvic — she had two lonely women left back there. Well, obviously, Penge would take care of Louise in his usual charming manner, but Sofia… Victoria might have not thought of her aunt for years but she had become her closest living relative in the past month, and she would not leave her to brave the elements alone.

The wet roads made the long way back even longer. At least adrenaline wouldn’t let her fall asleep at the wheel.

Melvic was drowning in darkness, and it wasn’t because it was already after one in the morning. Her car died half a mile away from her house, and Victoria hurried down the familiar streets, slipping on the squelching mud, using her phone as a flashlight. She didn’t stop at her own house and made a beeline for Sofia’s instead. The old plum tree in Sofia’s garden was lashing its branches furiously like a prehistoric sea monster, threatening to smash the table under it. Glass crunched under her feet on the porch. Victoria pounded at the door with her fists. Sofia opened almost instantly and let her inside. To Victoria’s amazement, she looked eerily calm.

“Come on, don’t just stand there, get dressed, we’ll go to my house. It will be safer on the elevation.”

Standing in the hall in her night dress, a burning candle in her hand, Sofia brushed off her excited pleas.

“My darling girl, if I am to die tonight, I want to die here, in my own home.”

Victoria could barely hold back tears. The remaining strength was leaving her.

“Don’t say that! I have already buried Nan, I can’t lose you as well!”

She almost had to dress Sofia herself. Holding her hand tight, Victoria led her outside, where the storm was already raging. The gale hurled prickly handfuls of rain into their faces and pushed them in the chest, as if determined not to let them go. The way that usually took her ten unhurried minutes now seemed endless. A new gust of wind caught Victoria unprepared and knocked her down, and she took Sofia down with her. With a primal howl of despair, riding the last wave of adrenaline, she scrambled to her feet but pulling Sofia up was more than she could handle. She doubled over, shaken by the gusts of wind, holding her aunt by the shoulders, cursing her lack of foresight, gathering her strength for a new tug.

“Lovely weather for a stroll!”

Victoria squinted, lifting her leaden head, to see a large blurry white spot coming out of the darkness. She lifted her phone, which miraculously hadn’t slipped out of her hand, higher and smiled stiffly.

“I have a question.” Strong hands carefully pulled Sofia up to her feet. “Are you two _completely_ insane?!”

He was always there when she needed him.

***

A nasty cold kept William Lamb home for the next three days. Victoria, who by some weird magic didn’t even get a running nose, blinked and grinned happily whenever she said “ _home_ ”, out loud or to herself. He shivered and bundled up in his thick coarse sweater, blowing his nose, coughing, cursing English weather and crazy English women up hill and down dale, and didn’t allow her to kiss him.

He sat in his London apartment, debating pros and cons of a bottle of scotch, when the news on TV reported the natural disaster bearing down on the Lake District. Of course, he didn’t hesitate to break the promise he had made in his goodbye letter and left London. Victoria had about half an hour on him, which he, of course, could not have known.

“I hope you do know that it wasn’t, like, Storm Desmond, and we wouldn’t have drowned and perished even without your help?”

“I have no doubt about that. But this is now and that was then. No one asked that storm’s name. I would have gone insane if I stayed in London. And imagine how I felt when I finally made it here: I find your car abandoned on the side of the road, the open gate is clanging, the house is dark and empty… I don’t know how I had enough presence of mind to figure out where you might go.”

“Wait, you had a car. Why did you run on foot?”

“Oh, for the love of God. You know what, _ma’am_ , wait till you’re my age—”

“What happens when I’m your age? I’m going to fall for a young man and lose my head?”

“It’s not at all queenly to torment a sick person.”

“Did you see the way Archie makes eyes at me? In twenty years or so he and I will be like you and Gran!”

“Bite your tongue.”

“Of all the things I would like to bite…”

“…You know what, I’m suddenly feeling much better. Here, touch me.”

“William! Sofia is in the kitchen.”

“I meant my forehead, you saucy little minx. Then again…”

“I have missed you.”

“Ma’am, it has been all of a day and a half.”

“A whole day and a half!”

***

“…Guess what, I’ve lost my keys. When I left, you know, _that_ day. Somewhere around Bassenthwaite. I stopped the car, got out, took a walk along the lake shore to catch my breath and calm down, and I probably dropped them when I took out the cigarettes.”

“Cigarettes?!”

“Please, spare me the lecture. I am the only professor here. I had just two and didn’t touch them again, okay? Anyway, I lost the keys. I didn’t even notice until I was already speeding down M1. I panicked, like a moron, turned the car around. I couldn’t find them — turns out the National Park Authority is really good at keeping their reserves clean. And I thought, well, there you have it, the sign.”

“Sign?”

“Yeah. I don’t have the keys anymore, so there is no way back for me now.”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it.”

“I did look at it in another way too. Just not then, not right away. I don’t have the keys Charlotte gave me. The page is turned. Now I need the keys _you_ will give me. I just hope I am… good enough.”

“Waste no more time arguing about what a good man should be. Be one…”

“And there I was thinking it was impossible to love you more.”

***

“Some would say I am too young and inexperienced. But I know my duty and I am confident that I am strong enough—”

 _A sunny August morning will spill languidly into the air, as though there never was any storm. And the clock in the hall will be chiming. And the scarf will be fluttering on the clothesline like an azure sail._ Magic _, she will think, lost in the admiring contemplation of the salt-and-pepper back of his head, offering her face to the warm breeze. He will be a little pensive, and when she will press her cheek to his back and wrap her arms around his waist — to remind him that he is not sad, he is simply calm — he will shudder but he will smile and cover her fingers with his. And the rest will be just… life._

“…I realize how much trust you have put in me. And I promise here and now that to me, none of you will ever be _just_ one of the many…”

She fills her lungs with air and finds his eyes in the crowd, and they fill her with pride, and her voice from the podium sounds louder and firmer.


End file.
